#bro all the references in this series

[number-onekidqueen]

Alex teaching Bear about ships and canons, bc he doesn’t know about them bc he’s from a different world, and then him repeating this knowledge to Jordan, will always always be iconic

Lynette Noni I love you so much for this and everything

[rainbowcolored7]

Click for HQ, please don't repost. Process pics below the cut 💖

[noxtivagus]

yeah i'm rlly gna play a lot of ffxiv when i can again >:3

[whorelaud]

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (04)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content suggestive !

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 03 ¡ 04 ¡ 05

yourusername

liked by rafecameron, sarahcameron, ryanontop and 1,640 others

yourusername its our world and youre living in it

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sarahcameron i start ovulating everytime i see you ↳ yourusername i cant believe that we're dating happy 10 yrs gf 😊 ↳ johnroutledge Dating?  ↳ yourusername do you want an autograph or something why are you always all up in my comments 

rafecameron Cool post ↳ yourusername thanks rafe ↳ rafecameron You're welcome Bug ↳ yourusername i have a name stop calling me that >:(   ↳ rafecameron Why it's cute ↳ yourusername are you flirting with me ↳ rafecameron And if I said yeah then what? ↳ yourusername Then you need to shut up  ↳ rafecameron 👍🏼👍🏼 Okay

kelcee3e Yeahh dump 🔥🔥 ↳ yourusername HI KELCE  ↳ kelcee3e Yooo wsg 🫡 ↳ rafecameron You know him? ↳ yourusername hes my bitch ↳ sarahcameron how many bitches you got 

ryanontop this ruined my day ↳ yourusername nothing was going good anyway ↳ ryanontop go fys

jjmaybanks Why are you arching your back over that railing ↳ yourusername hop off my dick ↳ jjmaybanks Man I was just asking :(

kiecarrera cuties!!! miss you guys 🥹 ↳ yourusername KIE!! i miss you too angel ↳ sarahcameron i wish you were here :’((

cleoanderson best girls ↳ yourusername you want me to kiss you sooo bad… ↳ sarahcameron im touching you ↳ cleoanderson Oh

user1 whys rafe all up in her comments ↳ yourusername he's a fan ↳ rafecameron That’s not true?

user2 THE PIC OF U N SARAH!! So adorable 🥹 ↳ ryanontop Creds to me ↳ rafecameron I took it but okay bozo ↳ yourusername mama took it??? why are you both lying 

johnroutledge My gf is so cute ↳ yourusername mine* you mean? ↳ johnroutledge No back off ↳ sarahcameron i love when you guys fight over me 😇 

popeheyward Someone’s having fun ↳ yourusername someones jealous 😹😹 enjoy tuna szn ↳ cleoanderson LMAO leave him alone!!!! 

Rafe doesn’t know what he did wrong. 

One moment, you were laughing and having a blast together, then the next, you were ignoring him, feighing oblivion to the puzzled expression that spread across his face. He played it off, ignoring the emotions washing over him everytime you fixed your attention on him, suddenly feeling his chest swell with pride as you directly flashed him a smile. 

Then again, you were his best friend’s little sister, he shouldn’t be bothered by such things, after all, you had control over your own life. But he couldn’t help it, not with your change of tone over the past few weeks. 

The mixed signals you sent him were killing him alive, and you didn’t even know it. At one point, he’d excuse himself earlier than everyone else, needing a moment to think his feelings through, contemplate over the sudden rush of frustration every time you’d refer to him as ‘bro’, or introduced him as your brother to other people. 

He was sure that you, maybe, in the slightest bit, had interest in him, so what changed? What made you switch up in an instant, casually referring to him as your own brother when the dms you exchanged said otherwise. 

It was cool, though, it’s not like you were being serious, merely messing around to entertain your friends. Besides, it was casual, you were both cool, that was all that mattered, right?

Rafe was sprawled on the couch located in your room, mindlessly scrolling through his phone while Ryan and Sarah argued from beside him, with you falling into a fit of giggles everytime Sarah roasted your brother. 

The boy strived to remain calm, brushing off the glances he kept stealing in your direction, in an attempt to capture the sliver of skin peaking through everytime you lifted your arms. Hell, he wasn’t even ashamed, brazenly undressing you with his eyes, making you feel shy under his gaze, as it burned holes through your flesh.

“When will you be done?” Sarah suddenly started, dodging the pillow Ryan tossed in her direction. “Can you tell him to stop?!” 

“Stop bothering her, Ryan.” You glimpsed over your shoulder, chuckling when Ryan rolled his eyes, creating a barrier with the pillow separating them. “I’m almost done, I jus’ need to touch up my makeup, and get dressed.”

“Okay, I’ll get ready, then.” Sarah shot back, flashing you a smile, though you were facing the other way. “Have fun with these two!” 

“Don’t leave me with them!” You whined in protest, Sarah’s footsteps echoing through the distance. 

“Fuck you.” Ryan rolled his eyes, rising from his seat. “I need to get the car started, don’t take too long to get ready, it won’t change much.” 

You scoffed at his snarky comment, dismissing the boy with your arm, letting tension seep through now that you were alone with Rafe, who was mere inches away from you. The latter maintained the same position, manspreading while he relaxed against the sofa, too accompanied by his phone to pay attention to you, or the fact that the others were gone. 

However, you were well aware that wasn’t the case, not with the gazes he sneaked in your direction, lingering everytime your skin was exposed to the air. And if you did that on purpose, not a single person needed to know, not Rafe, that’s for sure. 

A smile tugged at your lips, finishing up your makeup with a few touches before you were ready to go. Mind you, Rafe was still there, and not only was he staring, but he fully put his phone by now, entirely directing his attention to you. 

Taking advantage of the situation, you pulled your shirt over your head, the gesture causing Rafe to halt in his spot, not expecting you to do such thing. His eyes instantly shifted down your back, throat running dry when you reached to unclip your bra, letting it fall loose around your arms. 

Rafe’s fingers clutched around his phone, nearly breaking it with how tight his hold was. He couldn’t comprehend it, the sight of you half naked, though he could only see your bare back, it still drove him crazy, well aware that you were doing it on purpose; for a mere reaction out of him. 

A knowing grin made its way across your lips, proud of the said reaction you received from the latter, now sat on your couch with his mouth desperately parting in a sigh, hinting the temptation seizing control of his body. 

With a swift movement, you grabbed your swimsuit from the counter, sliding it on with ease, holding onto the two strings you wrap around the neck. Now, you could easily do it yourself, but what was the fun in that? 

You wanted Rafe to suffer, regret each word he muttered regarding his feelings for you, even if it was for a brief moment. You’ve been sending the boy signals for the past few weeks, urging him to speak, break out of the shell he created around himself, but nothing was enough, though you did everything in your watch to prove him wrong. 

That was until today, of course. Your head shot in Rafe’s direction, flashing him an innocent smile as you held the spaghetti strings in your hands, feigning ignorance to the disbelief spread on his face. 

“Do you mind helping me?” You started, cocking your head to the side. “I can’t tie it properly.” 

“Hmm?” Rafe choked out, shuffling around as he adjusted his pants, standing up from the position he was in. “Sure, uh, what do you need me to do?” 

“You could just, you know,” your eyes flickered to Rafe, as his figure filled your sight, now hovering behind you. You offered him the strings in your hold, with the latter hesitating to reach out, contemplating whether this was a good idea. “You’ve done this before, right?” 

“Not really,” he admitted, focusing his attention on the back of your head, as it filled the majority of his view. His hand hastily landed around your hair, faltering as he collected it in a fist, leisurely tucking it to your side. “I don’t go around tying girls’ bikini tops.” 

“Is that so?” You mused, admiring as Rafe tied the knot into a bow, making sure it was firm around your neck. “Not your first time, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“Why’s that relevant right now?” He whispered, words like music to your ears. His gaze locked with yours through the reflection of the mirror, causing your breath to hitch, immediately pausing in your track. 

His breath fanned over your exposed back, the fraction causing shivers to run down your spine, Rafe too close for comfort. His hand burned where it laid, the tips of his fingers like feathers to your skin, tickling you as they deliberately trailed down your back, halting just above the string connected to your top. 

Rafe seeked your gaze through the reflection of the mirror, searching for any sort of discomfort, continuing as he pleased when you leaned into the touch, silently consenting to the touch. Rafe saw his chance, and took it, his chest pressing to your back when his hand slid down to the curve of your waist, tracing over the flesh with the tip of his fingers, almost as if he’d hurt you if he applied any pressure. 

“You could’ve easily done that by yourself.” Rafe’s voice tumbled into a whisper, tone dripping with desire, one he wasn’t aware he had within him. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You innocently shot back, satisfied with the squeeze Rafe gave to your hip in return. 

His lips ghosted over your ear, a ragged breath escaping his throat as he hushed out your name. It was subtle, and if he wasn’t so close, you would’ve totally missed it. However, you heard it, the way he said it doing things to you. 

“I’m surprised you know my name.” You replied, sarcasm visible through your tone. 

Rafe remained silent at your statement, letting his eyes squeeze shut as he took a whiff of your scent, your aroma intoxicating his senses. He doesn’t know what overcame him at the moment, his hands moving faster than his brain when his fingers pressed down to your side, the fraction earning an inaudible gasp out of you. 

A familiar voice echoed through your ears, causing both, you and Rafe to freeze, instantly scrambling to untangle yourself from his hold when Ryan’s shouts erupted through the walls, announcing that he’ll be waiting downstairs. 

You cleared your throat, gaze travelling to the ground as you hid the smile forming on your lips, ignoring the way your pulse quickened from Rafe’s touch. The latter hovered from behind you, debating what his next move should be, his arms awkwardly hanging to his side. 

“I need to change out of my pants,” you exclaimed, cutting through the silence, your sentence earning Rafe’s attention. “Are you gonna keep staring?” 

“What?” He choked out through a breath, lips slightly parting. 

“I’m asking if you could leave,” you further explained, chuckling at the way his cheeks flushed, tinted with faint redness. “Unless you want to stay–”

“I’ll leave.” He hurried to respond, “You continue getting ready, I’ll buy you some time.” 

An appreciative smile tugged at the corner of your lips, observing as Rafe took off, leaving you a flustered mess while you contemplated over what just happened. 

Was it not a dream? Because, no way in hell did that happen, with Rafe; of all people. 

Quickly changing out of your bottoms, you threw on a shirt over your top, heading downstairs. You perked up at the sight of your best friend, accepting the hug she offered once you were in her presence.

Your families decided on eating out with, and in their words, the kids, suggesting they go to a fancy diner to blow off some steam, having been drained with work for the past few days. While staying in bed was tempting, you couldn’t deny your parents, kindly begging you to tag along. 

It was a nice little catch up with the elders, they informed you of all the business they’ve been discussing as of late, which in your opinion, was boring, merely smiling and nodding to everything they said. 

Rafe’s eyes didn’t leave you the whole night, taking the seat across from you, making it impossibly hard to avoid him. For a moment, you started regretting your choices, catching on the awkwardness seeping through the air, the atmosphere heavy with tension. 

The boy kept to himself for most of the time, his responses short every time Ryan would speak, interrupting the thoughts clouding his head. It was extremely difficult to brush off what went down between you two, the said moment switching a button inside him. 

He was aware of your beauty, finding you alluring from the moment that you dmed him, but right now, it was different. He admired you with such endearment, gaze flickering to your glossy lips, too busy chatting with Sarah to direct your attention to him. 

He shook off his thoughts, peeling his eyes off of you as guilt settled in his chest. He can’t let anything happen between you two, after all, he did promise Ryan that nothing would bloom out of this, and while a hint of disappointment filled his insides when Ryan drew a line, he did everything in his will not to question it. 

The ride back filled with chaos, you and Sarah claiming aux the moment you stepped in the car. Your parents snickered as you two sang along to the lyrics, creating your own karaoke throughout the drive back. 

“Do you guys want to watch a movie?” Sarah questioned once each of you took a corner on the couch. 

“Sure.” Ryan rose from his seat, surprisingly excited. “What should we watch?” 

“I’ll pass,” you huffed, standing to your feet. “I’m kind of tired, go ahead and watch without me.” 

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion, puzzled by the excuse you used. His eyes shifted to Sarah as she tried to convince you to stay, merely for you to brush off her attempts with an apology, insisting they continue without you. 

He didn’t question you, yet, of course he was concerned, blaming your action back to what happened earlier. Sarah played the movie, and Rafe was on the edge of his seat the entire time, itching to check up on you, find the reason behind your discomfort. 

He could only handle so much, pulling out his phone when his curiosity was no longer bearable. 

You perked up at the knocks erupting through your ears, eyes widening with shock, yet slight anticipation. Scrambling out of bed, you moved to approach the sound, twisting the doorknob with interest, peaking your head through the crooked door. 

Your face flushed with heat at the sight of Rafe, concern washing over his face. He was slightly hovering over you, as you bent down, making him look extremely big compared to you. Rafe tilted his head, attempting to capture the rest of your face hidden behind the door. 

“Are you not inviting me inside?” He asked, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was in sight. 

“Why should I?” You scoffed, straightening your back. “Go back, they’ll be suspicious since you randomly disappeared.” 

“I excused myself to bed,” he explained, hand pressing to the door. “Now let me in, I won’t take long.” 

You suppressed the adrenaline rush filling up your insides, moving to the side for the purpose of welcoming Rafe in. The boy took the gesture for granted, entering and shutting the door behind him, his back pressing to the wood while his hand yet clutched to the doorknob. 

“Let’s talk.” 

“What’s there to talk about?” You rolled your eyes, arms crossing over your chest. “I said what needed to be said.”

“But I didn’t.” Rafe defensively shot back, darting his tongue out to wet his lips. “Now listen to me– I’ll be quick.” 

“Okay,” you nodded, skeptical with where this was going. “Go ahead.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier, hell, it was stupid.” His eyebrows furrowed with pent up frustration, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I jus’ got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

Your expression softened at the unexpected words, taken aback by his concern. Sure, you were expecting some sort of apology, but the way he spoke with such a sweet tone, indicating he was afraid he did something wrong, it didn’t fail to make your heart skip a beat, too caught up in your own head to respond. 

Gaping your mouth to speak, your action fell short when you heard a knock on the door, causing both you and Rafe to halt in your tracks. You hushed Rafe when he parted his lips to talk, pointing out the suspicious amount of noise seeping through the silence. 

“Do they know you're here?” You mouthed, making Rafe shake his head. 

“Bug!” Sarah’s voice erupted through your ears, eyes slightly widening when the girl knocked again, striving to grab your attention. “Open up, I know you’re awake.” 

“Hide,” you mouthed once again, grabbing Rafe by the wrist, and dragging him to your closet. “I’ll let you know when she leaves.” 

“Wait–” Rafe froze when you gestured towards the cramped space. “I’m not hiding in your closet.” 

“Do you wanna get us caught?” You warned, expression washing with disbelief. 

“You’re acting as if we did something,” he grumbled back, avoiding your gaze. “I’ll jus’ say I was speaking to you; it’s no big deal.” 

“You told them you were heading to bed,” you started, wincing when Sarah knocked again, implying she was still outside. “What will Ryan think when he finds out you were in my room, mind you, way past ten? Ryan’s crazy, he’ll kill both of us!”

“Okay,” Rafe huffed, “But I'm not hiding in your closet, I’ll wait in the bathroom until she leaves.” 

“What if she decides to use it?” You argued, considering the possibilities. “I’m not risking it, Rafe, hide until she leaves; I’ll come up with an excuse to get you out.” 

Without further questioning things, Rafe entered your closet, with you immediately shutting the door behind him. You mumbled a small ‘coming’ while aiming for the doorknob, coming to a halt when you twisted it open, anything but anticipating what was awaiting you outside. 

“Took you long enough!” Kiara’s voice echoed through your ears, a breath knocking out of your chest when she embraced you in a hug, soon followed with Cleo joining you, as well as Sarah, and the rest of the boys, who stood to the side and watched with amusement. 

“Why did no one tell me about this?” You gasped, tightening your hold around your friends. 

“It was a surprise!” Sarah muffled out. 

Yeah, Rafe was in for a night. 

a/n hii!! sorry these wasnt smau this chapter buttt i hope you enjoyed :) likes n reblogs are v much appreciated!!!

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[hoshigray]

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐄 [& 𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲 𝑴𝑬] 𝐔𝐏!! | tōji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: It's bad enough you got a crush on your gym instructor, Toji; however, it gets worse when things become too close and personal for this relationship...But who says you shouldn't get a little praise for your hard work?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: personal trainer! Toji x fem! reader - explicit contents; minors DNI - unrequited/crushing » mutual pining - sex in a public space (gym locker room + showers) - shower sex - thigh riding - oral (m! + f! receiving) - ball massaging - face + throat-fucking - breast fondling + nipple play - against a wall + upstanding citizen + standing 69 positions - praise - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - cervix fucking - pet names (angel, baby, doll, dollface, good girl, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - unprotected sex (doesn't shoot inside tho) - overstimulation - cameos: Haibara and Ino (gym manager and employee) - the reader accidentally walks into the men's locker room (they're a bit dumb, forgive them, lol) - mention of sweat spit and tears.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.4k (i'm about to lose my mind, bro.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: mannnnnn, the way this draft has been collecting dust, it was supposed to be released on Dec!! ofc my first fic back would be for toji lmao. anyways, i hope you enjoy, and tysm for 4.7k y'all are so sweet ;;w;; and thank yeww @ramonathinks for beta-reading, mwah mwah

“That one was weak; do another three.”

“Gahh– …You’re such an asshole, Fushiguro.”

“Heh, like that’s anythin’ new. C’mon, let’s go!”

We’re counting down to the last weeks of the year, and so many people have already promised affirmations for themselves in the upcoming year. In terms of this year, you can’t say much. You’ve done your work, hung out with the same people since last year, and probably learned to spoil yourself more. Maybe another thing you can be proud of is that you crossed some TV series off your “get-to-watch” list, so go you!

Although, besides those minimal things, there is one change in your life that you’ve committed yourself to. One thing that you didn’t expect to be so in tune with throughout the past half of the year. It started as a forced challenge because your friend Miwa needed someone to motivate her to maintain her gym membership. What was once something you’d thought a one-time thing gradually became something you enjoy — something you felt proud doing!

Not only has your knowledge of your body and how to keep it in good shape improved over half a year, but your love for the community has grown more and more. The gym you go to feels like a second home, with many people you’ve gotten to know and befriend along your journey. Even the manager, Haibara Yu, practically treats you like a sibling after seeing you every other day. The same goes for the front desk associate, Ino, who is the goofiest goofball you’ve ever met (not to mention the best drinking buddy). 

But – if you really had to pick – there is one person who has made this experience more enjoyable and worthwhile. “Hahhh!! There, I did them! Aren’t you supposed to be my spotter, not a shit-talker?”

“I’m doin’ my job, aren’t I?” Toji Fushiguro, your gym instructor for the past few months, has been a driving force in your physical journey. With his help, you’ve been disciplining yourself in and outside of the facility, maintaining a good diet, and keeping your body active in a balanced fashion. The gratitude you have for him supersedes all. But above all else, throughout the years, the two of you have gotten pretty close and know a good chunk about each other to call yourselves friends – at least, that’s what you’ve been doing. “Alright, that’s enough lifting for today; time for stretches.”

Aside from a friend, there is something else you refer to him as – something you’d rather die than admit out loud. Toji, your trainer, is your gym crush. Well, your crush in general. 

Can you really blame yourself, though? Look at the man! When you first look at him, his physique alone is enough to keep you staring at him for hours and hours on end. Strong, bulky arms that look like they could pick up five treadmills in one sitting and with veins that decorate up to his forearm can effortlessly grab the attention of the normal eye. He’s wearing his black fitted tee, so tight that it was as if it was vacuum sealed to perfectly showcase the outline of his abdomen, ribs, and pectorals. And it doesn’t help from the back view either; you can’t count how many times you fell into a short trance from admiring his gorgeous back, from his trapezius to his waist. Every time the man flexes his biceps and triceps, all you can do is internally thank the gods for sculpting such a man to be in front of you. And those beautiful thighs and calves shaped from his black leggings and shorts? Damn.

But the thing about him that has you squeak more than a mouse are his eyes. Forest green orbs that can shift into a stern concentration whenever he’s working on a machine or when he’s observing your form and finds whatever needs correcting. Then there are times when they are mellow and soft when you’re speaking with him or when he’s deep in thought about something until you catch his attention. Then he’d throw a small smile at you — your biggest weakness. The scar on his lip being lifted to a curl never fails to put your stomach into knots.

He’s such an attractive man from the first moment you ever laid your eyes on him. You were bound to fall in love with him one way or another. It just sucks that it’s under such a professional relationship that you have to keep this little unrequited love to yourself.

Which is getting harder and harder every day, especially now when the guy is so close to your face when he’s helping you stretch. Oh, dear lord. 

Every time you are done lifting weights, Toji will have you do stretches. He has you do them before and after a workout as they give your muscles time to warm up and straighten from the stress you put on them. So now, as you’re laying on your mat, Toji puts one hand on your right leg to keep it grounded on the floor and his other hand on the back of your left to push it up to your chest. The position has the two of you so close, him being situated between your legs and observing your breathing; it’s so wrong of you to dwell your mind into other things – other raunchier things.

And when he brings both your legs up to your chest, how the fuck are you supposed to calm your heart from exploding!?? You have to close your eyes during all this to not be pulled in by the examination of his gaze under his raven bangs. This is, without a doubt, the best worst part of the workouts. Thankfully, this is the last workout of the week, and the gym is about to close within an hour and a half. 

Toji breaks the suffering silence between you two. “Y’re still stiff; take deeper breaths f’r me.”

Oh, if only he knew how your dirty mind took that sentence. You chew on your lip with a gulp, “Maybe I still have a little energy in me that still wants to exercise.”

That made him chortle. “Is that so? Well, maybe after your stretches, you can get on the stairmaster for a few minutes.”

You gawk at him, only furthering the smirk on his face. “Are you serious!?? You promised we wouldn’t do any cardio until next week.”

“Well, next week is around the corner,” Toji moves your knees a bit to the left, bending them further down to your chest so his face could be a little closer to yours. Your brain almost short circuits at the movement, trying to distract yourself from the fact that his groin is mere inches away from your shorts. “So, since ya got the spirit, be a doll and do a few minutes on the machine, okay? Five minutes.”

Your breathing is so slow that you’re too scared to move. Your lips pressed to a thin line to conceal the quiver, and your eyes don’t dare venture down. You already know your body is going through its own internal turmoil, a throbbing sense occurring in your lower regions the more you keep looking at Toji, who lifts a brow from awaiting your response. Oh, this man is going to kill me.

“…Five minutes.” 

“Atta girl.” With a scoff, he finally straightens himself and places your legs on the mat. Toji then stands on his feet and grabs his bag. “Gonna head for the showers; finish up those stretches and head for the stepmaster. See ya later, Y/n.” And you watch him leave for the men’s locker room, finally having room to breathe. Before you can conclude your stretches with a cobra and child’s pose, you grumble to yourself in a whisper.

Why the hell did I have to fall in love with such a snarky, gruff, older guy like him…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You enter the locker room after completing the instructed exercise. Your mind is dizzy from walking on the step machine for about fifteen minutes, and your legs are mere minutes from turning into jelly. You curse Toji internally for the insufferable torture you’ve stressed on your poor limbs. 

No matter, though; you’re finally done for the evening and can head home to your soft bed. The gym will close soon, so perhaps you could use the locker room showers to freshen up. But then again, after the strain you’ve put on your body for almost two hours, all you want to do is be home and listen to your favorite music. I don’t feel like cooking today…  

Further into the room, you can hear the sound of someone using the showers, indicating you had picked the right idea to head home. You head for the locker side to grab your items to put in your bag before leaving, and it’s then that you hear the water stop running from where the showers are. Oh, shit,  make this quick, Y/n!

In front of you is the locker with the number you’re familiar with — where you always leave your things, like your own spot. You open it only to find….nothing is in the locker? Huh? Where are my leggings? And my phone??

Come to think of it, where’s your duffel bag that you usually leave on the bench against the lockers? You’ve never had a problem with people stealing from you in this place, so how does a bag full of your stuff magically disappear? There is a bag in here, but it’s definitely not yours. And now that you get a good look, you start to notice that the color of the lockers is of a different, darker shade than what you’re usually accustomed to. Wait a minute, am I in the wrong—

“Y/n?”

You go still at the familiar voice. Oh no, please, God, no. There’s no way. Your eyes teeter to the corner as you ever-so-slowly turn to the direction where that voice was coming from. And, of course, it was your personal trainer, who is—OH MY GOD!!!

Toji stands afar on the opposite side of you from the showers, without clothing, his body and hair completely drenched from water. The only thing that covers him is a white towel wrapped around his lower body. His body, which you’re used to seeing being snug tight by his gym clothes, is out for you to see as water trickled down from his clavicle, pecs, ribcage, and abs. For a split second, you take in as much of the image as you can, storing this as it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in your mind (maybe to fuel more of your erotic fantasies when you go home). But you avert your gaze when your eyes travel down his abs, counting each one until you reach below his belly button, where strays of dark hair become more prominent with a trail down his pelvis and—Okay, stop looking, stop looking!!

“M–Mr. Fushiguro!?” You croak, eyes wide with realization at what you’ve just done. Your dumbass just walked into the men’s locker room without checking first. And to add salt to the wound, your crush is the first person to catch you in the act, “O-Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to walk in here! I’ll get going—“

“No, no, Y/n, calm down,” Toji walks to where you’re standing; a mini-heart attack was about to be deployed until the older man turned to the side to grab for something in his bag. He pulls out a smaller towel. “Ya walked in here on accident, right?”

You gulp, seeing the steam from the shower still leave from Toji’s nude body. “Uhm, yeahhh, I don’t know where my head was at. Sorry…”

The gym instructor scoffs at your apology. “It happens; must’ve been a bit light-headed from the exercise and forgot where y’re at. Heh, guess those five minutes did more damage than I thought.”

“Ahaha, yeah, it was…pretty….dreadful……” Were you distracted? Yup. Because Toji used the towel he pulled from his bag to wipe off the water from his arms and face. You couldn’t help but survey the man’s movements, watching the small white towel brush on his triceps and glide down to his torso. You continue watching the small towel until your eyes drift to the happy trail on his pelvis. Your breathing goes uneven, thinking of more indecent things that connect with the trail of hair and the limb that’s shielded by the towel around Toji’s waist.

“…–ou there…Y/n?” Your name said to you snaps you back, realizing where you are and what you were doing. Your eyes crawl back to Toji’s face, who throws a small smile at you. “Eyes up here, sweetie.” Sweetie?!? If the floor could give way and swallow you, that would be appreciated. “Is there anythin’ else you need to tell me while y’re here?”

No, I’m in the men’s locker room, so I need to hurry and get the fuck out! “Uhmm, n-nope, nothing at all! So…I better get going now. See you later, Mr. Fushiguro!” You turn on the heel of your foot to head for the door, only able to take about five giant steps before Toji stops you again.

“How was it today?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, what now!? You look over your shoulder. “Excuse me?”

“The workout. How was it?”

“It…It was, umm, alright, I guess. I feel like I could’ve done better on the weights.” 

“And why is that?”

Your body turns to have your front fully face him again. “Well, I mean, I was struggling at the last few reps…I’m sure you noticed, too, since you scolded me about it.”

He hums. “Ya know I correct you because, I know, you can do better, right, Y/n?” It was rhetoric, but you humor him with a slow nod. He brings the small towel to his head and dries his damp hair. “I’ve had many clients who come at me with everything they got or burned out before the first two months. But don’t worry, Y/n, I can tell you take pride in what we’re doing, and it’s good to know…” 

His words drown out from your ears. You didn’t mean for it to – you really didn’t. But while Toji was fixing his hair, you snuck more peeks at his body, enjoying his side profile. Admiring the way his arms move and flex, following the rocky silhouette of his abs that lead down to the towel again, you gasp at the dent of something that appears to be between Toji’s legs. Good lord, even with the cotton material covering him, you can still see it and—

“….Y/n.” Oh no, I did it again. You gulp with eyes venturing back to Toji’s face; the grin grew broader than before. “That's twice, sweet thing.” 

“S–Sorry, Mr. Fushiguro. It’s just that you have a...uhhh…” The heat in your ears makes it hard to concentrate on looking at the ground, anything to avoid your instructor’s gaze. “…..areallynicebody—“

“Hmm? I didn’t hear that, sweetie,” Sweetie? Sweetie!? Why'd he call me that? What you should be questioning is why that nickname made your stomach flip. But who are you kidding — if anyone had a crush on their instructor and were called a cute name like that, of course, they’d be as hot as a volcano. “Didn’t catch that, say it fr’ me again.”

“I–I said that,” Oh for fuck’s sake, this is so embarrassing! “You have a nice body…An attractive body, really…” The heat on your cheeks and ears is reaching heights that would have you combust at any moment. It’s what you’d hope for, honestly. It’s bad enough you’re stuck in the men’s locker room for not paying attention; now you’re here admitting to your instructor that you got the hots for him. God, please strike me here and now!

Toji says nothing after you say that, and it has your nerves at an all-time high, wondering if you should wait for his reply or just dash for the door and hope no one sees you leaving the men’s locker room. However, his voice breaks the silence, “I can say the same fr’ you.”

Oh, stop it. “Oh, please, no need to butter me up, Mr. Fushigu—“

“I’m serious.” He shuts down your argument down your argument before you can even finish. “C’mere.”

Why did you do what you were about to do? You could’ve just declined, exited the facility, and headed straight home to wallow away about this entire interaction, maybe find a different gym to form a membership with. But you didn’t. Instead, with downcast eyes, you slowly approached your instructor, who stood behind the locker bench. “Closer,” he says, noting how you’re about two arms length away from him, which you meekly decrease to one. “You don’t think ya got a nice body?” 

The adjacency between you two was too much for you, your face minutes from imploding. Too shy for words, you settle for a nod to give.

“How come?”

For God’s sake, this is not a conversation you want to have now with your crush instructor in the middle of the men’s locker room. “I…Well, Mr. Fushiguro—“

“Toji,” he cuts you off, discarding the small towel to the top of his bag. “Y’re over here tellin’ me I look good when you’re the one lookin’ like you could strike any guy that walks up in this place. Doncha think so?” 

Again, your eyes avoided his toweled figure, focusing on the tiled floor beneath your sneakers. “I guess, but…Toji, when compared to you, I—“

“Then that’s what ya shouldn’t be doin’, who told you to compare y'rself to others?” Toji brings a hand to your chin to make your avoidant peer placed on him, a move you were not mentally strapped in for. “I’m me, and y’re you, right?” 

“Right…”

“And that’s a good thing,” the hand on your chin slides down to the inside of your hoodie, his forefinger sneaking under the band of your sports bra. It makes your breathing stop. “But ya know what else I think?”

“What?” You sounded so low – so tiny – you didn’t know if he could hear you. He then brings his face close to your ear, and you could’ve sworn you almost felt your heart jump out of your throat. His free hand comes around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. The cotton of the towel now brushed your leg, and you could sink into a pool of embarrassment at the gasp you let out.

His voice was hoarse and low, the air from his nostrils grazing the skin of your ear. “…I think y’r body is the sexiest thing I’ve seen.” 

The sentence hit you like a truck, your heart almost giving in to a complete shutdown. “Huh–Ohhhh, wait,” Toji takes a nibble of your ear while his hand slithers your hoodie off of you, freeing your arms and covered chest where he creeps his hand inside next. You whimper at his fingers on your nipples that harden at his grinding touch. “Toji, wait, please wait…Do you really mean—“

“Mhmm, I do,” He coos, and a kiss to your neck nearly has you give way and lose balance; lucky for you, Toji was smart enough to have a leg between yours. “Now that I have you here, I’ll prove it.” 

“We’re—Ahhnnn…But we’re in the men’s locker room,” Toji brings his face up to look at you, your half-lidded eyes locked with his emerald orbs. “Someone could see us…”

Your worries are taken with a caress to your cheek. “Don’t worry about other people when y’re with me. I gotcha, baby.” 

“And I’m…Ohooo, really sweaty…”

“Nothin’ a shower can’t fix.”

And before you refute him again, Toji places his scarred lips onto yours, a shocked moan muffled as he kisses and sucks on your bottom lip. The hand in your bra now positions to the back of your neck, positioning you for him to deepen the kiss once you allow him access to your mouth. And once you kiss him back, all the reins of restraint have been discarded along with your hoodie to the floor.

The sounds of lips smacking get louder by the second, the passion in the kiss unraveling when you bring your hands to cup his cheek and have his face practically glued to yours. And Toji complies, shoving his tongue to tease and play with yours. The hand that was on your waist comes down to your ass for him to grope with the flesh, urging more of your sobs to be taken from him. Is it possible for your brain to turn into mush from a kiss? You’re finding that out now, breaking the kiss to gather whatever air you can before Toji claims your lips again.

The leg you’re riding on is nestled between your thighs, rubbing against the groin of your shorts. With every kiss and hump comes a grind on his leg, and it alleviates the growing ache that’s flourishing in your panties. Shivers travel up your spine and heighten your horniness, this elated feeling so dangerous that you could turn into putty at any second.

Toji lets go of your lips with a heavy pant, breathlessly snickering at his work; turning his cute client into a mess flipped a switch he’s been dying to indulge with. “Mmmm, y’re too fuckin’ cute, baby,” he wipes your mouth before letting you go; you hold back a whine when he removes his warm figure from you and steps back. It’s then that your instructor finally removes the towel that’s been shielding a now-discernible tent. The white towel meets the floor, and you follow his happy trail to meet with his erection, a sight that makes your jaw drop. The older man takes a seat on the bench behind him, and his legs spread out for his dick and balls to be ever-so-present and seen.

“Ya see how crazy you and y’r body make me?” He bites his lip, getting more turned on with you marveling at him and his length. “C’mere, angel, lemme see what you can do.” It takes a good mental slap to snap out of your frozen state and look at the thing you’ve been imagining all these months. Now, when the chance has finally been brought to you, how could you pass this up?  Following Toji’s command, you come close and go to your knees between his legs. 

The sheer size and girth of his length nearly put you in a trance, your eyes taking every detail of his erection before your eyes. Every dent and curve, the prominent veins from the underside, and the oddly pretty pink tip where bits of precum dare protrude from the urethra. Your raised hand has hesitance, yet Toji is quick to assuage your unease, taking your hand with his and wrapping it on his cock. The rough skin on your palm hitches your breath, “Hmmm, oh fuck. Yeah, just like that, princess.”

And there he goes again, egging you on with more cute pet names. Your hand slides up and down along his shaft from the tip to the base, and the sensation of its veins is so raunchy for your overwhelmed fingertips. Toji’s gruff hums to your touches stick to your ears the most, a sound you never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be lucky enough to hear. You want to keep hearing them, want them to be stored in your memory for as long as you can. And when you meekly tease his glans with a tiny lick, the hiss he expresses turns you on even more, so much so that you take the tip with patience and start to suck.

Toji throws his head back to the lockers behind him; the feeling of your tongue rolling around his girth as you inhale his cock is crazy. Fuck, it felt so good – he has to fight the urge to rut into your hollow cheeks and puffy lips. “Hahhh…Mmmm, damn….Ahahaha, ya know how to use that mouth of y’rs, Y/n. Keep suckin’ me off like that, and I’ll—Ohhh! Shit, shit, shiiiit,” he wasn’t prepared for you to take in his entire erection to the hilt. The tightness of your throat around him sends shivers, having to use the bench to grip onto.

You bob your head along his length, a hand accompanying the motions to further the exhilaration. Spit and come wet your palm, yet you’re too focused on the task to care, the haze of your brain increasing every time your lips meet the pubes of his pelvis. The jerk of his hips entails that you’re doing a good job, Toji bringing a hand to the back of your head when you kiss and lick on the head of his cock. You take note, assuming that it’s his weak spot, and continue to suck and tease the tip some more, massaging his testicles which almost had him choke. 

“—Hnnmph! Fuckin’ shit, I can’t…” Toji then has enough of this ribbing pleasure, unable to hold it anymore. With a careful hold on your skull, he stands from the bench and plows your face with his member. The harsh hit of his hips propelling his dick down to the deep crevices of your throat was sudden; the assault on your uvula results in your gag reflex; however, Toji was here to calm you down, “It’s alright, angel, breathe fr’ me.” He caters to you with a mediocre rhythm to the hips, the movement relieving the abrupt stress to your throat as you hum on his cock. You find purchase on his thighs to stabilize yourself while he plays with you orally, dialing up the pumps to your mouth until it reaches an erratic mood. Fuck, it has your head ringing, but the growing twinges and throbs between your legs practically excite you for more. Goddamn, it feels so good. So fucking good. “Jesus Christ—Y/n, I’m ‘bout to cum. Keep swirlin’ that tongue…Nnmmm, fuuck, right there, right there—Ahhhck!!”

His release comes with a few rough hits to your lips, his balls hitting your chin until they’re pressed against it. He pups his load into you, and you take it like a champ, letting the fluid venture down as the girth pulsates around your walls. His choked breathing eventually simmers down, giving it a few long seconds before he steadily removes himself from your warm cavity. The last remnants of his white substance paint your tongue, your saliva coating him. And with a voluntary swallow, you open your mouth again to showcase your clean change.

“Heh, didn’t even have to tell you,” Toji chortles, bringing a thumb to wipe your chin. “Good girl.”

KA-CHA! CREEEEK!!

Wide green eyes shoot wide along with yours, and the both of you go frozen rigid. That was most definitely the sound of a door opening. The door to the men’s locker room, where you are on your knees, in front of your personal instructor, with his dick out for the whole world to see. The blood in your body runs cold, and your stomach drops to the chilly floor. Oh, it’s over. It’s done. Your life is officially coming to an end. Welp, it’s time for me to think of a good suicide note when I get home and—

Pause on that. Because one moment you were thinking of your demise from this discomfiting situation, next you’re being dragged by Toji to the other part of the locker room, the showers. He swiftly opens a curtain and throws you both inside with a close, and the wet tiles soaked to your socks have you cringe, so you take them off.  

“Hello?” It’s a guy’s voice, of course — Ino’s. The young man is probably inspecting the male locker rooms before they close for the night like usual. You don’t dare speak so much as a letter when the footsteps draw closer to the showers, your heart rate spiking to a nervous high, and your breathing shallow. This is worse; now you’re in a confined space, face-to-face with Toji, who is utterly nude, towel left back on the bench. Your eyes locked with his, and your ears to the sounds of shoes entering the plane. “Anyone here? Saw some stuff at the front.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” your expression turns to sheer terror, wide orbs looking at the raven-haired man who spoke. No! Why would you say something!? 

“Hmm? Toji, that you?” Ino’s voice comes closer, in front of the shower curtain that shields you from his field of vision. Your heart is on the verge of dropping to your intestines. “You’re still here? Figured you’d be home by now.”

“Nah, I’m still here. Just about to finish up and head out.” Toji then turns on the faucet, cold peeps of water hitting your sweaty skin, panties, and sports bra. And, of course, it catches you off guard. OH FUUUUUU—  You don’t scream. You can’t. Instead, you shield your mouth and turn your back to Toji after giving him the most outstanding death glare of your life, which the older finds amusement in. You wipe your face from the water, cursing internally at this entire predicament. 

“Oh, okay, cool. I was just worried someone left their stuff on that bench over there. Carry on, and have a good night!” Ino dismisses himself and leaves the showers, and you exhale a silent sigh of relief. Oh, thank goodness…

Toji, on the other hand, sees your relieved state, and he can’t help but grin to himself with what he’s about to do. Moving closer to you, he brings his wet hands to your sports bra and immediately goes to fondling your breasts. A moan sneaks past you at the contact, prompting him to grope you even more. “T–Toji,” the water gradually gets warmer, juxtaposing with his cold fingers. “Stop, we have to leave, this is—Ohooo…” He tweaks your nipples with his forefinger and thumbs, and a leg sneaks in between yours.

“Relax, dollface, it’s just you and me here,” Oh, sweet Lord, you almost fell to your knees when he whispered to your ear and a teasing lick to your helix. “Got ya all to myself, now…” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, his wet hair brushing your cheek while he snakes his hand down into your panties. The way his fingers graze your clit again has you arch your back to him, another hushed shriek when he bullies his way between your folds. 

“Hey, Toji?” Ino’s voice again. Back to anxious stakes now that Toji’s toying with you. Goddamn it, Ino! What are you still doing here!? “I noticed you left your towel on the bench over there. But I also saw Y/n’s hoodie there.” Oh, fuck me!! Shit, shit, shit—"Ohhmph!!"

With quickness, you covered your mouth before your moan caught the ears of the front desk employee. And the reason for that is that Toji pulled down your soaked underwear and gave your chasm a sudden lick. If Ino weren’t back here, you’d give your personal trainer the nastiest kick to the throat you could ever do. But when he inserts a finger inside you, your aggression withered away in seconds. 

“Huh? Ohh, yeah, ‘bout that,” Toji stands back up and continues to finger you, chuckling at the sight of your trembling figure using the wall as leverage. “I saw ‘em before headin’ to the locker room. We talked for a while, but then they said they needed to change and told me to hold their hoodie for ‘em.” He says it so casually, all the while scraping your inner walls with the tip of his forefinger, summoning hushed cries that turn to silent screams when his free hand comes down to playfully pinch and press on your clitoris. God, this is too much torture for one night. 

Ino keeps questioning. “Really? I had someone check the other locker rooms, and she said she didn’t see anyone or anything except for a few personal items and leggings in one of the lockers. I’m guessing those would be Y/n’s, but where could they be?” Little did he know that you were just a curtain pull away from being found, chewing hard on your lip to quash your screams from the erratic swiping on your clit and the curving hits of his digits in your wetness.

“Mmmm, they probably are at another part of the gym or waitin’ for me at the front.” He lies effortlessly, yet his attention is still on you as he removes his fingers from you, the pleasure subsiding from the removal. Instead, he brings his erection in between your folds and humps you, and the feeling of his dick on your lips worsens the throbs in your awaiting cunt. With the heat coming from the shower and your uneven breaths, you’re bound to faint at any moment. 

“Ahh, makes sense. Alright, I’ll try and find them then,” you don’t say anything, just hesitant breaths when you feel the tip of Toji’s cock align and lightly push to your slick-coated entrance. Holy fuck, this is actually happening! Your lips quiver when Toji comes down to your ear to tell you to relax your body from tension, quietly maneuvering you by pulling your lower half to him. You do big inhales and exhales while the man pushes his cockhead to enter your cunt, wincing at the few seconds of pain that accompany each push. “See you later, Toji, and I put your towel on the hood next to your shower for when you’re done. Good night!”

“See ya.” And with Toji’s dismissal, Ino’s footsteps draw farther and farther from where you two are. And the moment you hear the locker room door slam close, Toji pushes the entire cockhead inside of you. Finally, you can squeal out to your heart’s content, balling your fists on the shower wall while your personal trainer wedges his length inside of you and stretches your walls. The girth was definitely something you knew would be an obstacle to accommodate, and it’s worse when your slit keeps clamping around the foreign limb invading inside. Tears begin to swell from the stinging touch, not that they would be distinguished by the shower water hitting behind you and Toji.

“Haahh, ahahhnn, mmmm,” Your wails seep out from your system right as the base of his cock kisses your lower region lips. And after a few seconds, he starts with a slow pace. Knowing that you can feel every dent and vein within you is insane to comprehend; the heat across your cheeks cranks up due to the euphoric sensations. “Ohhhh, my God, Tojiii. I’m so full…”

Toji pecks on your shoulder, “Yeah, sweet thing? I bet so. Just be a good girl and keep grippin’ on me like that, alright? Gonna start movin’ now…” His hips rut into your vagina, pulling his shaft slowly outward and rushing it back inward. Holy shit, it felt so dreamlike — having him actually move inside of you. But it was very much real; having his pelvis meeting the flesh of your ass was proof of such.

A hand snakes down to your clitoris, and a gasp leaves your lips at the brush of his thumb rubbing against it. Your legs tremble at the flick of his finger on your bud, and the pace of his thrusts crank up in speed, making it hard to concentrate on one thing. So many senses are being activated all at once; the shower water raining down on your back, the exhilarating combination of Toji’s dick grinding down on your insides, and the swipes and pinches on your precious clitoris. God, it was all too much. 

“Arch some more fr’ me, princess,” Toji gets up to push your back further down, the walls of your chasm clinging onto him as the more exposed opening gives room for you to be plowed. “Hnnmm, shit, feels so good…Hey, let’s try somethin’ different.”

By the time the last bit of his sentence could be registered, he already had you turned to face him, folding your arms around his neck. You didn’t know what for until he hoisted you up, and then you instinctively grabbed hold for dear life before your back hit the wall, your legs wrapped around him while he held you by the thighs. Toji brings his member back to your labia to insert it back inside, and you two moan at the contact again. Oh, this was different – never have you been lifted like this. And to be elevated by your gym crush, in this connotation, is enough to have you appalled.

But what made your breath hitch the most was Toji’s face being up close and personal. The bangs stuck to his forehead thanks to the shower water; his jet-black hair was wet and slicked. Trails flow down his face, drops of water plummeting from his nose and chin. And – oh, sweet Jesus – those green eyes of his, so striking as if they could pierce right through you. They were piercing through you. He took in your expression just as you were his, eyes filled with wanton desire, and it was all directed towards you – for you. He flashes a small smile, teeth peeking from beneath his scarred lips.

Oh, my God. You turn to the side to hide your face from his gaze; it definitely wasn’t the water that was making your cheeks and ears hot at that moment. But that didn’t fly with Toji. He sneaks into a rut that has you jump on his cock, the new position giving his dick an angle to hit your cervix. Because of that, the jab erupts a shriek you had no preparation for withholding. 

“Heh, aht, aht, don’t do that,” Oh, he knows he’s in control of this entire situation; you can hear it in his patronizing chortle. “Don’t hide that pretty face from me, doll,” he kisses your cheek and trails down to the crook of your neck. “Let me hear you—Aiishhh! Oh, fuuck…” 

Once Toji begins to jerk his hips to you, you dwell into a pleasure that you never knew existed. Toji’s length scrapes your inner walls like crazy, like a euphoric itch. The fact that you’re bouncing on the cock of your personal trainer is scary to comprehend. Having him see you like this, hearing you moan and wail for him, you never felt more exposed in your entire life. And also, him holding you like you weigh nothing and fucking you in the men’s locker room showers?! What the actual fuck!? This is actually so embarrassing – I could die! 

But why would you? The commotion between your legs feels way too good to bring this to a stop – you two are already joined in a union, so why stop? Every stroke to your slit sends a shiver up your spine, clamping onto him every time he brushes up on your sweet spots that make your nerves tingle. And the occasional jabs to your tender cervix? Damn, the stimulation was enough to have you faint with the heat growing tenfold.

“Mmmff, hoohhh, ohhhhh,” your cries are drowned out by the shower, only heard by Toji. Speaking of, this position gives you proximity to observe his expression. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes shut as if he’s in the zone. The huffs of breath he takes with every roll of his pelvis are so hot to the ear that you wouldn’t mind listening to them all day. Anytime the walls of your wetness clamp onto him, he moans and hushed curses at the feeling of you wanting him. He’s an attractive man, but, holy fuck, this was a sight you thought you’d never see in a million years. 

“—Khhhh! Hnmph, ahhhh,” Through the gruff pants, Toji opens his eyes half-lidded, catching you in the moment of staring right at him. You clench onto him; why does this man have to look so fucking sexy!? He smirks, “How we feelin’ now, baby?”

“Hahhh, I–I’m—Ohhh!! Fucking shiiiitt,” you cry out when he slams deep into you, making your toes curl, and your words come out in slurs. “It’s too muuchh, Tojiii, ughhh!! T–Tooo muuuuch…” 

“Ya gettin’ close?” Oh, yes, you were. You could feel it through the trembles climbing up your fibers. Your brows trench at the high, and Toji was mean enough to sneak a pinch to the clitoris without you noticing. Your legs tighten around his waist, and you shake your head hurriedly. He chuckles, releasing your clit from his rough fingers and putting his forehead to yours. “C’mon, angel, I won’t know what you want if ya don’t say it.”

Fuck, he’s such a meanie. You love it so fucking much. You mewl to him, “Pleaseee, Tojiii, I want it so bad!”

He lifts a brow. “Want what?” 

“—To cum!! Pleasepleaseee, I wanna cum on you, I want it—Ahaahhnn!!” Fuck, it’s coming. Almost there. 

That’s all he needed to hear, the grin on his face broadening at your response. “Cum on me, then. I’m right here to catch ya, princess.” His hand returns to your clitoris, pressing down on the delicate button to the point where all he can hear is your sweet screams of lust. His thrusts now get erratically fast, having you rebound to the hilt of his length, the smacks of skin slapping against each other fill the confined space of the shower. And the climb of your aroused high increases until it comes crashing down; you let out one last howl as the electric shocks course through your body, and your release is freed. Your walls squeeze hard onto Toji as you indulge in your climax; him pistoning his cock to your sensitive labia adds to the chilling sensitivity. Your cunt flutters around his cock while you experience your crescendo, your eyes screwed shut to enhance the experience, not aware of Toji watching you ride out your orgasm on him. 

The trembles calm down, the shocks subside, and your breathing descends into a steady rhythm. Throwing your head back, you rest your back against the wall while still in Toji’s hold, using this time to indulge yourself in this moment of clarity. 

Toji lets out a tiny laugh, bringing his face to your neck to suck on it. “That felt good, sweet thing?” You sigh out of breath, nodding to his question. “Hmmm, good. But ya know I’m not done, right?” Your blood ran cold, your body rigid still. Wait, huh? “I let you have your fun, so be a good girl, and lemme have mine.” 

The involuntary twitch of your slit should give you a clue as to how the news hit you, and you can't tell if it'll be him or the shower that will have you melting like a puddle by the time this is over...

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Haibara walks out to the front desk, where Ino hurriedly stuffs his phone back into his pocket, away from his superior’s eyes. Fortunately for the younger man, the older one didn’t see his device. “Hey, Ino, I got a question.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” The associate fidgets with his brown hair under his rolled-up ski mask.

“Have you seen Mr. Fushiguro and Y/n today? Toji told me he couldn’t make it for Monday night, but I haven’t seen Y/n that day or Wednesday.” The older brunette looks around to find any resembling cues, but his eyes see nothing that sparks familiarity. 

Ino blinks before answering. “No. And now that you mention it, I haven’t seen or heard from them since last week…”

Haibara leans on the desk and sighs. “Hope Y/n’s doing all right. Usually, they’d call or shoot a text telling me they couldn’t make it for their appointments with Fushiguro. But this is twice where neither of them show up.” 

“Hmm, can’t say I have an idea.” The other shrugs at his superior’s concerns. “I didn’t get a call or text from Y/n either, so maybe I’ll give ‘em one after my shift. Heh. Let’s hope they didn’t replace us with another gym.” 

With trenched brows, Haibara took offense to the younger brunette’s words. “Cut that out, man! I’d be pretty upset if they just suddenly stopped showing up here. Half a year of coming in and out and getting to know each other, only for them to just vanish like that…At the very least, they could give a call!” He passionately bangs on the front desk, giving Ino a startle.

RING-RING-RING!! RING-RING-RING!! 

The two froze at the sudden ring of the desk phone as if Haibara’s fist magically granted them a call. And by the exchanged glances they shared before Ino picked up the phone, they better hope it wasn’t the call they were expecting. “Hello, this is Golden Gate Gym. My name is Takuma Ino; what can I do for you?” 

“Hey, is that you, Ino?”

“Hey, Y/n!” Ino turns to Haibara, whose eyes share the same perplexity as his. “It’s good to hear from you; where’ve you been? You’ve been MIA for almost a week.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had a little accident and sprained my ankle; I couldn’t come to the gym on Monday and Wednesday.”

“Oh, shit, for real?” Haibara watched the younger man’s tone change to concern, which didn’t help his nerves either. “Sorry to hear about that, but it’s a good call not coming here and taking care of yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks. Is Haibara there with you by any chance?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s right next to me, actually.” Ino takes the initiative to give the darker brunette the phone to speak with the one on the other side of the line. Haibara outstretches his arm to take the phone and put the receiving end to his ear. “Yo, Y/n!”

“Hey, Haihai. I meant to call you Wednesday, but I’m letting you know that Mr. Fushiguro and I are still doing our weekly appointments.”

Haibara sighs in relief internally, giving Ino a thumbs up. “Oh, thank God! You two had me worried there for a second. We didn’t see you guys here and thought you’d be a no-show again.”

“Yeah, sorry for the scare. Mr. Fushiguro found out about it and decided it would be….Haahhh….best for me to do my regimine at my apartment instead…”

“Well, that’s nice of him to look out for you with your ankle. I’m sure he’s doing what he can to—“

“Ahaahhnn!!”

A sudden yelp pops into the call out of nowhere and completely takes Haibara aback from the phone as if it was so out of place for the topic that was taking place. Ino notices it when the darker brunette gives him a brief perplexed look, which the younger shrugs at. “Uhh, Y/n? You busy right now?”

Oh, you were busy, all right. You’re at your apartment right now. Your ankle? Absolutely fine, nothing wrong about it in the slightest. The only change, however, is not being at the gym for this entire week and staying home instead. Why?

How about asking your personal trainer who has you propped upside down, standing up with his hands holding you by your ass, stuffing his face to your exposed cunt which he licks and sucks on. The feeling of his tongue digging through your labia has your hips jerking, but his strong arms exhibit unmoving effort in keeping your wetness in his mouth. His pants down to his knees, and his erect length in your hand and brushing your cheek. This is most definitely not the at-home exercise that Haibara is thinking of.

“…Hello?…Y/n, you there?”

Oh, shit! “Y–Yeah, I’m here! Sorry, my ankle is acting up on me—Ohhhh…Fushiguro’s looking at it for me…” Oh, please, he’s not checking shit; fucker indulging himself between your asscheecks, ravishing your folds like a sweet fruit to his tastebuds.

“Oh! So you two are exercising together right now?” Toji nibbles on your vagina and grazes with his teeth, having you gasp and twitch. His tongue surprising your clit prompts a choked whine. “That’s good to know then! Alright then, see you guys when you’re ready to return to the gym. And tell Toji not to put too much on you, ya hear?”

“—Khhhh, mhmm…I’ll give him an earful for you. See you later, Haibara…”

“Great, see ya. Happy Friday!” 

And with that farewell, you can finally toss the phone down and coo to your heart’s content, biting your lips at Toji stuffing his mouth on your bare chasm; his muffled groans vibrate your lower half like crazy. “Ohhooo!! Ohhhfuckkk, I’m gonna cumm,” your words slur with a suck to your clitoris, your hips bucking involuntarily. “Lemme cum, Tojiiii, I wanna—Ahaaaa!!”

He removes his face from your ass with an exhale as if he was dying for breath. But based on the grin plastered on his face, he wouldn’t mind being in this position for a little while. “Oh, I don’t think so, doll. I don’t think ya deserve to cum in my mouth.”

That was the last thing you wanted to hear right now. “Ahahnn!! You’re such an asshole, Toji…”

He chuckles crudely. “That’s where I’m gonna play with next if you don’t stuff my dick in that pretty mouth of y’rs already. Suck me good; then maybe I’ll let the princess cum all over me.”

Broad strokes from his pelvis rub his dick on your cheek, a reminder of your part of this endeavor that you must partake in. The smell of him overwhelms your nostrils into a pornographic trance, your head pounding just from looking at it. You gulp and take the tip into your mouth, sucking and licking the precum off while your hands glide up and down his shaft. “Good girl, good girl…” Toji goes back to smacking his lips on your folds, moving his tongue in whirlpool motions that have you moaning on his cock. God, it feels so good, so fucking good. You can see yourself becoming addicted to this, and that’s a bit scary seeing this professional relationship drift to something more touchy and personal…

…But then again, there’s nothing wrong with that, right?

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by achumuchi + dividers by @/cafekitsune & @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[o-sunny-day]

@forgettable-au Babybones Fancomic ✨

“Keep Reading” for the rest :3 (10 Pages)

*deep breath*

you hear that?

thats the sound of AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ok. I spent. 31 Hours of my life on this. And i dont regret. a GODAMN thing.

i will go on, but first, A N A L Y S I S

PAGE 1

The title “Radio Star” comes from the song “Video Killed The Radio Star” by The Buggles. Its lyrics I believe are absolutely perfect for this AU, Examples being “Rewritten by machine and new technology” , “We hear the playback and it seemed so long ago” , and “We cant rewind we’ve gone too far”

The title also refers to how…1, they build a radio-

and 2, Sans calls Papyrus a Star at Grillbys if you call him “uncool”

PAGE 2

Nothing to note

PAGE 3

This is the first real scene I had in mind. The entire concept came from me imagining how Sans’ memories of Wingdings got overwritten, so where in memories he’d call Wingdings by his name, he calls him Papyrus.

In an animation with audio, itd be like “Aw cmon, P A P Y R U S” and be a silly little jumpscare.

Buttttt then ofc the idea turned into a thing where I couldn’t shape it into a “fake” memory.

I wanted to play with their characters as they WERE not how they remember them being.

PAGE 4

Nothing

PAGE 5

As they travel to the barrier, Wingdings is leading, and COMPLETELY focused on his goal. Ignoring Gerson (social interaction) while Sans takes his time and looks around getting “distracted”. This exemplifies the nature of their relationship.

Them in Hotland, they’re actually right next to the lab. Taking the elevator the guards were…guarding. So Sans is looking at the lab like “hey. Hey wingdings, look, look at that building, thats so cool”

PAGE 6

At the bottom is just another example of Wingdings being deadset on his goal, while Sans is helping out but still stopping to smell the flowers

PAGE 7

This panel makes me so happy-

It works??? vs It works!!!

Wingdings doesn’t come across as the kind of guy to doubt himself, I just think he’d be shocked at himself regardless that he pulled this off. Meanwhile Sans is just thrilled 😭

PAGE 8

N/A

PAGE 9

Oh boy this is the finale of explanation.

This conversation that Asgore and Sans have. Is REALLY important to me

Asgore/everyone that isnt sans, cannot understand Wingdings. So, Sans is talking for him. It may come across as him taking all the glory or whatever, but NO. look at his dialogue boxes! they’re not blocking out WD, and he’s like “YEAH 😊 MY BROTHERS SO FUCKING COOL”

Meanwhile Asgores boxes are completely blocking WD out. He thinks Sans built it cause hes doing all the explaining, and Sans isnt getting the hint that Asgore THINKS THAT HE MADE IT its a whole thing

Wingdings appreciates Sans, but he doesn’t appreciate people thinking he did all the work-

Asgores dialogue box when asking “How did you build such a thing??” is covering Wingdings, and he’s looking at SANS. he’s asking Sans how he built it, meanwhile Sans, still not getting the clue, is looking at wingdings like “:) cmon bro, tell him, you know ill translate for you!”

PAGE 10

Sans then understands at least that Wingdings does not want to indulge this- and goes into explaining mode, as hes done it so many times before-

Sans saying “You cant understand him” instead of something like “his font is hard to understand” is important because he is putting the “blame” on you. He’s fully aware this is something Wingdings WISHES he could change about himself so badly, so he just kinda naturally changes his tone which I find really fun when writing dialogue :3

This comic, I feel is an example of how much this AU/comic series means to me-

As much as I obsess over and LOVE comics as a medium, this is the first ever I have ever properly finished. ofc there have been like 2 page ones, but YEAH this is the first BIG one i have ever finished in my entire life.

These characters- as much as they’re Tobys, they are also Sunsestarts in my opinion. The situation they are put in of JUST the font trouble alone is something i’m SO fascinated by and clearly- had the time of my LIFE writing and playing with. And thats ignoring all the other shit that happens BECAUSE of that.

Undertale is special, The Forgettable AU is SPECIAL- THESE SKELETONS ARE SPECIAL

Im on the edge of my seat waiting to see what happens next because I know whatever it is, its gonna be special

also, I made this while listening to Slipping Through My Fingers on repeat. I regret nothing

((ALSO I HIGHLY RECOMMEND TIME/SPACE BY ALEX G, ITS A GREAT SONG IM DEFINITELY GONNA STORYBOARD A FORGETTABLE AMV TO CAUSE ITS REALLY REALLY GOOD, ID TOTALLY TIE IT TO THIS COMIC- BUT ITS MORE FOR PAPYRUS AND GASTER INTERACTIONS RATHER THAN BABYBONES???)

[ylangelegy]

cables and crackle ꩜ jihoon x reader.

♬⋆.˚ It's goosebumps when you hear the drums / The running start before the big jump / It's that feeling, so stellar / Bro, if you like her just go and fucking tell her!

🎸╰› includes: f!producer!reader, feelings realization and denial, jihoon has a crush <3, pining/yearning, fluff, [light] angst, first date, confessions, references to producing (that may or may not be accurate).

💽╰› this is part of my ongoing series, buzz (seventeen's version) + this piece is inspired by track 01, buzz. word count: 13,800+

When you first started working with SEVENTEEN three years ago, Jihoon wasn't all that excited to have you around.

Perhaps it was his pride. BUMZU and PRISMFILTER had been the company's go-to's until they decided they wanted to bring in someone fresh, new, up-and-coming. You had been the result: Someone two years younger than Jihoon. Scrappy and hungry. Experimental, ambitious.

His hesitance at your music production has morphed from begrudging respect, to genuine appreciation, to something akin to admiration. Jihoon would never say it out loud, but you've grown to be one of his favorite producers to work with. (He doesn't have to say it, really. Everyone is already privy to Jihoon's biases.)

Now, three years in, Jihoon finds himself trying to reckon with a foreign feeling—

The flutter of his chest as you walk in to the studio. The stutter in his pulse as your fingers lightly brush over the digital audio workstation. The hitch of his breath as your head, ever so lightly, falls on to his shoulder the longer the evening drags on.

Jihoon is a 27-year-old man. As he tries to stay absolutely still, there's only one thing on his mind: Wasn't he too old to have crushes?

You could usually keep up with Jihoon when it came to these long-night sessions. One had to, considering how he was practically nocturnal at this point. But it had been a long day of minor misfortunes, the type that wear you down bit by bit.

You don't even seem to notice that your head is lolling to one side. When your cheek lands on something solid, you might think it's the back of the chair next to you— except it's Jihoon's shoulder, and he absolutely freezes underneath you.

He would be the first to admit that this isn't the first time you've ever been this close. There's been many times your bodies have gravitated to the same spot on the couch, or times when your heads are practically glued to one another while your hands are both at the keyboard, or during the times your feet accidentally meet with each other under the desk.

It's just never been this close, where Jihoon can feel the brush of each of your lashes against his neck every time your eyes fall shut.

He think he might pass out if he dwells too much on it.

He watches from his peripheral vision as your eyes flutter shut, and he thinks, for a moment, that you're out of commission. But then, you mumble, "The reverb on the snare, just now."

If you hadn't been right next to Jihoon's ear, your words might have been drowned out by the speakers. But, as it is, he hears you loud and clear. "Too heavy," you go on to say, without even opening your eyes. "We need to dial it back for a cleaner sound."

There it is, he thinks with both awe and bitterness. Even half-lucid, even half-asleep, you're still as brilliant as you've ever been.

"Mhm," he hums lowly. "I'll adjust it."

He does as you've asked. When he runs the track back, you let out a soft sound of contentment and shift slightly in your seat, blissfully unaware of how you're leaning more weight in to Jihoon's side. It's absolute torture, he thinks.

"Better," you mutter. A beat. Your drowsy inquiry comes in next. "How do you feel about the tempo in the bridge?"

He forces himself to pay attention. He runs the song back once more, this time paying particular attention to the bridge. It doesn't take him long to identify the issue— one of the main ones, anyway.

"A little too dragging," he replies. "It slows the track down a bit too much. I think it disrupts the flow. Makes the chorus—" He suddenly stops mid-sentence.

Because, for some reason, he's become acutely aware of the way your head fits perfectly into the crook of his shoulder.

He's now fully conscious of how close you are. Of the way your breath fans against his neck. Of the way your knee seems to bump against his whenever you unconsciously readjust your position.

Jihoon feels his pulse pound at his chest as he tries to keep his tone steady.

"It disrupts the flow," he repeats, his voice slightly gruff. "Makes the chorus less of a… high, for lack of word."

When your initial response is a thoughtful hum, he bites back the urge to smirk. It should come to no surprise that you're about to disagree with him. More often than not, you butted heads over minor things like this.

"Thought it was too fast," you grumble, somehow sounding a little sulky because of your drowsy state. You're usually a lot more adamant and fiery when it comes to asserting your opinions. But in the late— or early, since it's already past midnight— hour, you've tamped down my temper.

It does absolutely nothing for Jihoon's poor heart.

Your cheek nuzzles against Jihoon's sweater as you shake your head in a very that won't do manner. "The lyrics might suffer. Try slowing it down by 8 BPM so we have more space for vocal delivery."

8 BPM? Jihoon nearly chokes on an incredulous laugh. The number is so arbitrary, so out of pocket. "The tempo's already sitting at 139 right now," he bites out. "It's not like slowing it down by another 8 BPM is going to—"

Jihoon makes the mistake of glancing down at you, and damn it. You're not just leaning against his shoulder at this point.

You've practically cuddled into him.

Jihoon's breath catches in his throat as you shift once more, leaning your chin against his shoulder.

He finds himself wanting to wrap an arm around you and pull you closer. Press you into his chest until your cheek is up against his. Until your head is tucked right under his chin.

But then you're grumbling out your next words. "139?" you repeat. "Notch it down by 9, then."

The slur in your tone is just enough to remind him that you're not entirely coherent. He swallows hard, his fingers a little too gentle as he inputs the changes. 9 BPM it is.

It's a bad call, one that's made abundantly clear when Jihoon plays the track back. He doesn't even have to tell you; you're already groaning, pressing your face in to his shoulder. Your words are muffled against the soft material of his sweater.

"You were right. Should have amped it up instead of slowing it down," you mutter, though there's a distracted edge to your tone. He gives it a cursory couple of seconds, letting you gather your thoughts.

"There's an issue with the kick and the bass, isn't there?" you note.

He listens closely— and, as always, you're right. There's a dissonance between the kick and the bass.

Jihoon frowns, a little more focused now. "Yeah, I hear it too," he manages to say succinctly.

His brain is still trying to conjure up a solution when you let out a slight huff and finally peel away from Jihoon's side. He doesn't know if he's grateful or disappointed because of it.

You're bleary-eyed and your fingers fumble but your work is efficient as you click away at his mouse, at his digital audio workstation. He watches with a straight face as you add sidechain compression to the bass, as you drag the bridge's BPM up.

It's not just the music that's synced, but the way the two of you work as well. A little push, a little pull, and you manage to find balance. You know exactly what to do, even when you're tired.

Jihoon listens closely as soon as the bridge plays back and he's pleasantly surprised.

"That fixed it," he says, his eyes darting rapidly as he takes in the revised audio levels. "Yeah, I think it's good. We should move on to verse three now."

"Jihoon."

He blinks and glances over at you. You've slumped back heavily in to your chair; it spins slightly on its wheels when you do.

"I'm not going to make it through another verse," you warn. "I think I need, like, a power nap."

"Power nap?"

Despite Jihoon's best efforts, a corner of his mouth twitches. A glance at the clock tells Jihoon that it's past one in the morning. They'd been working on the track for a solid eight hours now.

He lets out a low, considering hum, before looking back at you with a slight frown.

"How long is this power nap supposed to last?" he asks dubiously.

"I only need fifteen minutes," you respond.

There's a decisiveness to you tone, one that brokers no argument even if you're rolling your shoulders from sheer exhaustion.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," he replies, though not unkindly.

He rolls the chair back, moving so that he's facing you fully. One leg is crossed over the other, his eyes studying you carefully. He's going to attempt to convince you, obviously.

"You need a good night's rest. You won't be any use at all when you're this tired," Jihoon insists, but he immediately regrets his choice of words when he sees you wince slightly.

You're no stranger to his bluntness; you know just as well that he can be both brutally honest and painfully inconsiderate. That he shows his care and concern in much more roundabout ways compared to others.

And so when you insist that you'll be good as new in fifteen minutes, he can only sigh, leaning forward to rest his forearms against his knees.

"And if you're still tired after fifteen minutes?" he counters. His tone is gentler, softer, this time.

"I'll go home," you grumble, like the thought physically pains you. "If I'm still out of it after my nap, I'll go home."

Jihoon feels some of the tension in his shoulders abate as you finally agree to a compromise. "Fifteen minutes," he reiterates firmly, holding up a single finger for emphasis. "And if you're not ready to work again by the end of it, I'm driving you home."

You open your mouth, almost like you're about to argue at the thought of Jihoon driving you home, but then you opt to purse your lips. You know how the two of you can go in absolute circles some days and so you merely shoot him a heatless glare before stalking over to his studio's couch.

It's not really the type that should be slept on. With its stiff, black leather, the couch is an awful makeshift bed for anyone. But you and Jihoon have figure out little workarounds after spending so much time working together— like the fluffy, folded comforter at the foot of the sofa and the throw pillow that's shaped like an onigiri.

Jihoon watches with a small smile as you curl up on the sofa, underneath the blanket and with the pillow. "G'night," you call out mid-yawn. "See you in fifteen."

He watches you for a beat longer, his eyes tracing the way your expression relaxes, just a little, as your head hits the pillow. After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away. He really had to work on his habit of staring.

"Yeah," he huffs as he tries to go get a head start on the third verse. "Night."

It's difficult because he can't help but steal glances, and every single time he does, he's struck by a wave of affection. You're so small, so fragile-looking, burrowed in to the sofa. He notes the way the pillow's slightly squished underneath your head, your face half-buried in the plush material…

He almost feels the urge to take a picture just to capture the scene.

And then he realizes: Why not? You're friends, aren't you? And friends take embarrassing photos of each other.

He picks his phone up from his pocket with one hand and angles the camera with the other. He knows just what he wants to take a picture of. The way your cheek is squished against the rice ball pillow, just barely visible underneath the edge of your tangled mess of blankets. The way your expression is relaxed, softened in sleep, with the slightest pucker to your lips.

He presses down on the snap button, and the shot is just perfect. The way the glow of the monitor catches in your hair, bringing out the natural color. The way your eyelashes fan out over your cheek, and the way the shadows highlight the sharpness of your features.

Jihoon's eyes linger on the image, something akin to longing twisting in his gut.

This time, he doesn't bother to push the feeling away. He does go back to work, though.

Fifteen minutes pass. And then twenty, thirty. The longer you sleep, the more Jihoon's guilt gnaws at him.

He knows he's about to wake you up, to ruin the temporary blissfulness that sleep has brought you. He knows he's about to drag you back to the studio to work again, despite the bags that are under your eyes and the exhaustion that is evident in every line of your body.

He knows he's going to be the cause of your fatigue. And he hates that— hates himself, just a little, for his need, his drive.

Still. At the thirty-minute mark, he makes his way over to your side. He reaches out, fingers hesitating for a second, before he gently shakes your shoulder.

"Hey," he calls, his tone soft and neutral. "Wake up. We need more work done."

It's very likely that the unceremonious way you've been dragged out of your sleep has gotten to you, because how else can Jihoon explain the way you drowsily move to hold him?

Your fingers reach up and curl gently around his wrist. Your eyes are still closed as you exhale, "Jihoon-ah."

It's more of a whine than anything, really, but it's one that he can't deny, not when you clutch his wrist like that. "What," he asks, his tone flat out of panic. "What is it?"

It's surreal, in a way. The way your tiredness has loosened your inhibitions, has stripped you down to the simplest, most vulnerable version of yourself, one that's practically begging for closeness.

You give his hand a gentle tug. "Come nap with me. Y'need to rest, too."

Jihoon's mind goes blank the moment the words leave your mouth, his whole body freezing. Because no, he didn't just hear that, you didn't just ask that—

And then you tug on his wrist again, and he swears his heart stutters.

On one hand, the rational, reasonable part of his mind is screaming at him to push you away, to reject the idea entirely. He needs to focus. He needs to finish the track. He needs to work, not rest.

But then he looks down at your sleepy form, the way you're clinging on to him, and all those thoughts are thrown out the window.

Slowly, Jihoon lowers himself onto the couch, his body sinking against the plush material. It's a tight squeeze. Months ago, the two of you might have called each other ridiculous for even trying to fit in a piece of furniture that was clearly not for two people to lay on.

The thick of comeback season absolutely shatters any attempts of appropriateness or discretion. As Jihoon complies with your absurd request, you somehow manage to throw the blanket over the two of you.

Jihoon isn't a stranger to casual touches— he's had to survive through years of constant skinship between the members— but there was something different about this.

The feeling of your body, curled against his own. The way you hold his fingers in your grip, like a comfort, like an anchor. The scent of your hair, so close he could just nuzzle his face into the messy strands.

He tries very hard to focus on the negatives. On how cramped and uncomfortable the couch is, how he's going to end up with a backache—

— but his mind doesn't want to cooperate. Because all he can see is you, all he can feel is you; the way your soft, warm body is pressed against his own, the gentle rise-and-fall of your chest against his, you, you, you.

His mind goes blissfully vacant, and before he can even think to stop himself, Jihoon is wrapping his free arm around your waist, drawing you in.

Jihoon doesn't mind the sudden increase in body heat that comes with having you pressed so close to him, not when your back is solid and warm against his chest, not when the curve of your hips slots so smoothly against the shape of him.

He lets out a shuddering breath as you press his palm against your stomach, the fabric of your shirt slightly rucked up by the motion. You're so soft.

For once, Jihoon finds himself hating everything else— the studio, the album, the uncomfortable sofa, this damn comeback for robbing him of an opportunity to simply hold you.

Jihoon swallows, his throat suddenly dry as the words slip past his mouth before he can even stop himself.

"You're too close," he mutters in your ear, his lips so close to the shell that he's half-convinced you were going to feel his words against your skin. He's being a hypocrite, really, since he's the one holding you, but he needs to maintain some sense of propriety.

"Mmm," you hum, still more asleep than awake. You exhale an apology as you try to sleepily shift away, mumbling something like "didn't notice" in your languid effort to disentangle.

Your movement has to be the most half-hearted attempt at putting space between the two of you. So Jihoon tightens his grip, his fingers curling over your hip to keep you from shifting away.

He doesn't want you to move, not even an inch— and it's greedy of him, really— but the thought of losing the heat from your body is more than he can bear, not when you're here and you're so close.

His hold is firm, almost demanding. As you settle back down, Jihoon buries his face against the back of your hair, his mind going blissfully quiet.

"Dunno why y're so cozy," Jihoon murmurs, his words slightly slurred with the exhaustion that's catching up on him now, too.

He tries not to think too hard about it, the intimacy of it all. He tries not to focus on how he's practically molding his body against yours.

Just a nap, he thinks. It's just a nap.

Your voice is so soft, so quiet, nearly lost against the sound of Jihoon's thrumming pulse in his ears. He catches it anyway. Your quiet murmur of "G'night, Jihoon-ah."

He feels strangely light-headed. It's hard to focus, hard to think, his thoughts fuzzy around the edges as he slowly starts to succumb to drowsiness.

Jihoon lets his lids flutter shut, his mind sinking into darkness. "Sweet dreams," he mumbles back.

In the end, Jihoon is the one who has sweet dreams.

They're fractures of a bigger picture, pieces to a puzzle he could never piece together.

He sees your tired smile, hears your soft laugh, feels the brush of your hair against his chin. He sees you in flashes, in glimpses, always out of reach. Never close enough.

They're so vivid, these dreams— so real— that Jihoon swears he can almost feel you, can almost hold you. When he reaches out for you, for the dream version of you, it feels like he's grasping at air.

There are hints of other things— flashes of studio lights, melodies and songs that drift in snippets. But they all fade to the background in the face of you, the way you shine in his dreamscape like a sunbeam.

Seungcheol is the one who finds Jihoon and you the next morning— or, rather, the next early afternoon.

He's not surprised to hear that Jihoon didn't come home to the dorm. He's not surprised to find Jihoon asleep in his studio. He is surprised to find Jihoon spooning you— his co-producer, the one they all thought he was a little too soft towards.

Seungcheol's eyebrows raise to his hairline. Jihoon was never the affectionate type. And yet here he was, curled around you like a parentheses. Seungcheol takes a quick picture on his phone before gently nudging Jihoon with his foot.

"Yah," the leader says, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants; his tone, a little too-amused. "Jihoon."

It takes a few nudges for the words to register, for Jihoon's sleeping mind to slowly come back to the world of the living.

He feels… groggy. Exhausted. And strangely warm.

After several long moments, reality catches up with him. As his sleep-addled mind slowly pieces everything together, Jihoon's eyes flutter open and it takes all of two seconds for him to process the fact that he's spooning you.

Jihoon's eyes widen, and his head snaps up to a grinning Seungcheol.

"This isn't what it looks like," Jihoon says immediately, his words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

He almost screams when he tries to move away, when he tries to untangle himself from you, and your soft, sleepy whine sounds more like a protest than anything.

He should've let you go. He should've, but when you make that noise, when you curl in closer to him, the part of Jihoon's brain that's awake shuts down entirely.

Jihoon freezes and tries desperately to ignore the way Seungcheol snickers.

Seungcheol keeps his hands in his pockets as he watches Jihoon with growing amusement. Put-together, frumpy Jihoon, stunned in to silence because his co-producer is latched on to him.

It is, as Jihoon had said, very much not what it looked like. Seungcheol can see that the two of you are still fully clothed. Hell, he wouldn't have even imagined Jihoon going that far when the boy barely thought of romance that way.

Still, it's just a little funny. "Long night?" the leader drawls, not even trying to conceal his sheer mirth at the situation.

Long night is a huge understatement, and Jihoon shoots Seungcheol an acerbic look that's not nearly as effective as it normally might be. Not when he's still trying to detangle himself from you without waking you up.

"You have no idea," he grumbles under his breath, his eyes flickering down to your exhausted expression as you cling to him.

He can feel the way his heart stutters at your closeness, the way his chest tightens. Not the time, he scolds himself.

"We were working on the album," Jihoon says, as if that explains everything.

He's given up on trying to move, because he knows that if he keeps trying, you're going to stir— and the last thing Jihoon needs is an awake you, all warm and soft and adorably disheveled.

"Can you... leave?" he croaks to Seungcheol. Jihoon's cheeks are tinged with a furious red color; he prays to any deity that Seungcheol will simply chalk it up to shame. "I'll give you details later, just..."

Jihoon shifts minutely, and a muted noise of protest escapes from you. He shuts his eyes and sends a silent plea at the ceiling of Please, God, not now.

Seungcheol, for his part, lets out an amused huff, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Alright, alright," the leader says, holding his hands up to show he's conceding. "I'll leave. I'll talk to you later."

He grins. "And try not to have too much fun, yeah?"

The smirk only widens when he sees the flush on Jihoon's face. The leader saunters out of the studio, the door clicking shut behind him.

And Jihoon is... well... left with you.

Silence descends, and it's deafening.

Jihoon can feel each and every beat of his own heart, can hear your slow, soft breath coming out in steady, even exhales. You're asleep— still clinging on to him, your body pressed firmly against his own— and Jihoon tries not to focus on the feeling, tries not to think about how you're so soft, so warm.

He should move, he thinks. He should untangle from you, put at least two feet of space between you, and yet.

Jihoon can't, not when you look so peaceful against him. Not when you're making little noises every now and then, the soft, low sounds coming from somewhere in your throat.

It's a special kind of torture, having you so close when he knows he can't do a single thing about it. Just a taste, an inkling of closeness— and now he's hooked, wanting for more.

He knows it's selfish, what he's doing. To have his arm wrapped around you, holding you tighter than he should. To relish in your warmth as you sleep— but Jihoon can't help it, not when he knows this might be the only way he could ever get to hold you.

He knows you're not his. You can't be his, for several reasons.

But for this brief, quiet moment in time, you feel like you could be.

There's no way of telling how much longer you stay there. To Jihoon, it feels like an eternity and then some; in reality, it's probably only a couple more minutes. You shift in your sleep, letting out a big yawn. Jihoon tries to not flinch when you stir.

For one ridiculous moment, he considers closing his eyes and pretending to sleep, so he can have a few more seconds, a few minutes longer with you in his arms. But then you're moving again, and Jihoon can feel his heart in his throat as you blink, shifting to look up at him.

"Huh," is the first thing you say as you squint up at him. "Hi."

"Hey," is his lame response, his tone oddly, uncharacteristically soft. He swallows when he catches the way your eyes flicker all over his face, as if drinking him in.

There's a lot to take in, he's sure. His arm is still around your waist and your leg is slotted between his. The blankets are a mess; the noonday sun, peeking through the studio's heavy curtains.

As your mind finally seems to catch up, you let out a groan. "S'rry," you slur, voice still thick with sleep. "We overslept. I'm a bit clingy when 'm tired."

Yeah, right. Clingy is not a strong enough word for what you had become in your sleep.

Jihoon tries to ignore the feeling of your legs tangled together, the way you're practically molding against him. He tries to tamp down the way his breath hitches, to ignore the way his heart skips a beat when you let out a sleep-filled groan.

"You were hanging on to me for your life," he remarks in a tone that is far more amused than exasperated.

"Yeah, I figured," you say wryly, glancing over at the clock to see the damage. Jihoon's eyes follow your gaze. Two in the afternoon. Your shared 'nap' had lasted a full twelve hours.

"Wow," you huff. "We were out for a while."

"That we were," Jihoon agrees, and he's more than a little reluctant when he lets you go, unravelling his own limbs from yours. The space between your bodies feels like a physical blow, but Jihoon tries not to seem too put off by it.

He sits up, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't slept that long since I was a trainee."

"That's unhealthy."

"Pot calling the kettle black."

There's a calculated casualness in your next words. "Did you at least sleep well?"

The slight concern undercutting your tone makes Jihoon rather light-headed. "I slept like the dead," Jihoon answers easily, and he doesn't even have to lie about that.

His rest had been more peaceful than it had been in years, and if he's truthful, he'd blame it all on the fact that you were wrapped so firmly around him, all soft skin and sleepy warmth. You'd fit so perfectly with him and Jihoon is fairly sure he's never going to get the sensation of you pressed against him out of his mind.

A corner of your lip twitches upward. "Don't say that," you tease as you stretch your arms over your head. "Because we may actually be dead soon enough."

There's still an album to finish. A couple more tracks due in mere days. But Jihoon's suddenly feeling much better in a way that he hasn't in a while.

Even the ever-present stress and exhaustion feels almost like an afterthought, like it's barely even there. In the midst of it all, there's only you, still mussed from sleep.

It helps that you're taking the little cuddle session with surprising grace. "Wanna order in breakfast? Lunch?" you inquire, like you can't quite decide what to call your first meal of the day when it was well in the afternoon.

"Breakfast-slash-lunch sounds good to me," he answers, a hint of a smile visible in the curve of his mouth.

You order Chinese food. Something proper and real, a break from the convenience store rice balls and energy drinks. In the time it takes for the takeout to come, you and Jihoon speed through the song that had been plaguing you both last night. It seemed that being well-rested did you both well.

When the food comes, you go to collect it. In your absence, Jihoon finally checks his phone.

Suddenly, the studio feels ice cold, because he has seventy-something unread messages from his group chat with the boys.

He clicks the little arrow that takes him back to the first unread message, and surprise, surprise— it's from Seungcheol. The stolen snap of Jihoon and you cuddled together glares up at the producer, paired with the world's most annoying message.

🍒: Our Woozi-yah's a big boy now. ㅋㅋㅋ

The messages don't stop there, because Seungcheol had essentially given the others the green light to blow his phone up.

Jihoon scrolls through them, his expression growing more and more irritated as he reads through the suggestive and ridiculous messages the boys have chosen to send.

⚔️: Jihoon-ah~ Who knew you had it in you~ 🐈‍⬛: finally! 🦦: LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

Jeonghan, as per usual, is the worst offender of them all. Jihoon is just about to try and get a word in when a new, rapidfire sequence of texts pop up, the second eldest member clearly having entirely too much fun with this.

👼: So cozy, our Jihoon-ie! So cozy ♡ ♡ ♡ 👼: Finally, our Jihoon found himself a pretty girl 👼: We didn't know you were such a cuddler~~~

Jihoon's fingers are itching to reply something back, but it's hard to even make sense of the messages; they're coming in so fast. Every time he tries to type something back, another notification pops up with more texts, so he's forced to sit and watch as the members tease him relentlessly.

But then—

🐱: Cough up @Joshua @Vernon 🐢: dammit. couldn't have waited four months, woozi hyung? -_- 🦌: I didn't lose as much, so it's okay~ 🐯: WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER

The other boys all chime in with their own odds, and Jihoon realizes with horror that his bandmates had bet on him.

The horror quickly morphs into disbelief mingled with irritation.

So they'd bet on him? And on what exactly? That he wouldn't fall for a girl over the course of three years working together?

He doesn't even look at the odds before he types an aggravated reply.

🍚: You guys bet on me???

No one even tries to deny it. Soonyoung, the menace that he is, is the first to respond.

🐯: Not all of us ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ 🐈‍⬛: and it's just if you'd get with your fav producer. lol

It occurs to Jihoon, then and there, that the boys presume him and you are dating. It's a misconception he has to amend before any of the twelve can make some wisecrack about it in front of you.

🍚: We're not dating.

Jihoon doesn't bother to hide his irritability.

🍚: We were just napping together.

It's not the last of it, as it turns out.

More texts flood in after his message, and while there aren't as many jokes as before, it's easy to tell that the members are just dying to tease him about this whole thing.

When you return to the studio bearing your takeout, you're greeted with Jihoon typing furiously away at his phone, a disgruntled sort of look on his face. "You alright over there?" you call out amusedly as you pad over to the studio couch.

"Yes, and no," Jihoon answers shortly, a hint of petulance to his tone. If he looks up at you, it's only for a moment.

For someone who tends to be stoic and brooding, he's not exactly having the best morning right now. Jihoon is more than a little annoyed from the relentless teasing, and while he tries to fight it, there's a lingering feeling of humiliation, too.

A part of him wonders if this is what he deserves— for having had that moment with you this morning.

"Well, whatever it is—" you give a dismissive wave of your hand before plopping down on the couch.

He almost smiles at that; you've known each other for an odd number of years. It was enough time to be fairly acquainted with each other's habits and mannerisms, to know when something was worth pressing in to or not.

"Come on," you urge him. "The faster we eat, the sooner we can finish."

"Okay, yes, I'm coming," Jihoon answers hurriedly, and he makes a hasty beeline for the coffee table, where your takeout boxes are set out neatly.

He gives the group chat a final glance, just to make sure they're not texting anything too embarrassing. The more he scrolls the more he's bombarded with messages about you, and you would have thought the group chat was dedicated entirely to you, considering the number of texts.

He groans and locks his phone, turning it face down on the table as he takes his seat.

"Here," you say as you gently place Jihoon's order in front of him. Chao fan with a side of sweet and sour pork; a can of cola.

The way you seem to automatically know all the things he orders, the way you know what the right order to pick for him is, it almost gives Jihoon the sense that you've been working with him for even longer than three years.

He's not sure what to make of it, but it feels strangely nice, somehow, knowing that there's always something or the other that you would already know. He takes a bite out of his meal, wondering when it was that this relationship of his with you had become so comfortable.

It's an odd sensation, really.

Jihoon had always been more than content to keep to himself. But there's no denying that he feels a certain kind of peaceful contentedness when he's with you.

Perhaps it's how the two of you work so seamlessly together. Perhaps it's how you somehow managed to get under his skin. There's a certain comfort that Jihoon isn't used to having that's settled around the two of you.

And it's the kind of comfort that might make him vulnerable.

He can't have that, so he privately decides to keep you at a distance.

It's a distance you reciprocate. Both Jihoon and you know better than to tread the careful line of your friendship, especially in your line of work.

The two of you work like a well-oiled machine, like a lit match being tossed in a haystack. Jihoon and you are relentless, as always, and you finish off the rest of the mini-album in the next three hours.

There's still fine-tuning to hurdle through, but as Jihoon and you replay the last track for the first time, he has to concede. The worst is over.

You slump forward in your chair, your forehead resting against the work desk of his studio. "Done," you breathe. After a moment, you add, "For now."

"For now," Jihoon echoes.

There's a long pause between the two of you as you both relish the peace and quiet of a fully completed mini-album.

"Let's go for coffee?" he finally asks, glancing to where you're slumped in your chair.

You tilt your head ever so slightly until your cheek is pressed against the desk and you're looking up at Jihoon. You smile ruefully as you speak, your tone almost apologetic. "No to coffee. I think I want to go home and knock out for twelve hours."

You go on, "You should do the same. We've been in this studio for…" You pause like you're doing the mental math, and then a disbelieving laugh slides past your lips. "About thirty-three hours, Jihoon-ah."

Thirty-three hours is almost incomprehensible. Jihoon isn't even surprised, because of course, that's the kind of work ethic you've come to expect from an idol— but, thirty-three hours?

Jihoon's head is spinning. There's a strange, odd kind of haze settling around him, almost like he's caught between a dream and consciousness. He's tired, yes, he's more than tired, but Jihoon knows that he doesn't really need to go home to sleep.

Except he can't say no, not when your words are coming with all the weight of a command, not when you're looking at him like he's some helpless, pitiful wreck, needing some sort of care. He hates it.

He hates that you see him.

"Okay, okay," Jihoon says in a rush, standing from his chair. "I'll go home."

He's always known that any work done with you ends with him doing exactly as you say. You might have never said the words to his face before, but Jihoon isn't an idiot.

He's wrapped around your goddamn finger some days.

The thought that he's now more than willing to do whatever you want from him has never occurred to him before now, and it leaves him feeling slightly shaken, slightly unsure of everything.

It takes you both about ten minutes or so to get everything in order, then another seven minutes to head out of the company building. The relief Jihoon feels as you finally find yourselves outside is immense, even if it is a chilly, early winter evening.

You glance at your wristwatch before distractedly asking him, "You'll be okay behind the wheel?"

"'Course," he says as he fishes for his keys. For a moment, he contemplates asking if you want a ride home. It'd be out of his way, but it's something he's almost willing to bear.

Almost.

Instead, he forces himself to say, "See you. Take care."

You give the same pleasantries back before beginning your trek to the train station. Jihoon, for his part, finds his car in his designated parking space.

The drive home is the most boring and uneventful thing ever— except when Jihoon looks in his rearview mirror. The sight of you disappearing into the distance makes him feel strangely hollow and a bit wistful.

His stomach gives a weird, twisting lurch, and he's tempted to make a U turn right there and then and find a reason to be back in his company.

Maybe he'll tell you just how alone he can sometimes feel after an album is completed. How there's always this sort of lull in the days, hours after his work; how he fights it off by doing more work, even if it's not all that necessary.

He wants to ask if you ever feel the same way, too.

But you had never really been a part of that loneliness, and now you were leaving. And— just for the night— Jihoon can't help but feel more lonely than ever.

He doesn't want to be lonely.

He wants to be left alone, in a company of his own thoughts, with nothing and no one to distract him. But, for some odd reason, he wants you around.

It's almost too much to bear, so Jihoon turns the radio on louder and lets the sounds of music drown out the patter of his ragged heartbeat.

Jihoon and you are forced to reconvene a couple of days later, albeit on circumstances that neither of you are particularly fond of.

Sungsoo, the company's CEO and executive producer, is already seated at the head of the table when you walk in. Jihoon sees the way your eyes scan the meeting room; he tries not think too much of the way the tension in your shoulders seem to ease when you spot him.

The sight of you makes Jihoon's heart do a little dance, which makes him want to both pull you close and run far, far away from you.

For now, he just gives you a nod of acknowledgement and shifts his eyes back to the older man sitting across the meeting table from the both of them.

You sit across from Jihoon. Sungsoo doesn't even bother to sit; he merely launches straight in to his agenda.

"Good work on SEVENTEENTH HEAVEN," Sungsoo says right off the bat. Jihoon knows it's more of a cursory greeting than anything; there was always going to be more than just a pleasant compliment.

The other shoe drops soon enough. "I think there's more work to be done, though, specifically on three tracks," the CEO presses on.

Three tracks.

Jihoon feels his jaw clamp tightly. He's been through these kinds of corrections before, of course, both from himself and the company. Sungsoo says things about the lyrics of Back 2 Back, and the organization of Yawn, and the chorus of Diamond Days.

And while Jihoon has been through this, has needed to take things apart or put stuff together to appease the higher-ups, it's never any easier. His hands are clasped tight, and he's trying his best to hold himself together, but on the inside, he wants to scream.

This is a part of him. These are all parts of him, big and small, and it's always just a bit of a jab— to have his heart put in someone else's hand, and then to watch that heart be poked and prodded for the sake of... what? Commercial gain?

At one point, Sungsoo pauses to look between Jihoon and you. "Are you not going to take notes?" the older man asks.

You respond before Jihoon can. "Rewrite the second half of Back 2 Back, tweak the instrumentation balance and structure of Yawn, adjust the rhythm for Diamond Days' chorus," you rattle off. "I— we got it, sir."

"Right. Good," he says, and Jihoon doesn't like the condescending tone that Sungsoo uses with you, but at least it's not aimed at him.

The older man sits back in his chair, and Jihoon lets his eyes drift away from the company boss just for a moment to look at you. A strange feeling fills him. He wants to name it appreciation, wants to claim it's nothing more than a little admiration.

But then he'd be lying to himself. Because that warm kind of feeling shifts into— just a little— something a bit more than what he's supposed to be feeling for a co-producer.

Before he could dwell on this thought any longer, Sungsoo clears his throat and Jihoon quickly tunes back in. He's not thinking about that right now, and that's final.

The meeting wraps up not too long after with some parting reminders on deadlines and the upcoming comeback. Jihoon can tell by the look on your face that you're a bit dazed, and Sungsoo's parting words only add gasoline to the fire.

The CEO says both your names as he readies to dismiss you. "The two of you are a good pair," he notes, and Jihoon almost short-circuits.

Pair.

Right. A good pair of co-producers. Not anything else, not anything more.

Both of you mumble your appreciation for the CEO's remark. And Jihoon, like the fool that he is, feels that warm, fuzzy glow bloom again. He doesn't care what it signifies; at the moment, he's just too happy to work with you again.

By the time you head back to his studio, there's not much that either of you can really say. Marathon edits were not new to either of you; you both slide in to work mode without much preamble.

The music starts playing and the edits start pouring in, and the five or six hours spent on the three tracks fly by without Jihoon even noticing it. It gets to the point where he's working on autopilot— one hand on the mouse, fingers flying across the keyboard.

The thing about working on autopilot was that it made the process quicker but left little room to feel or think, which was both a blessing and a curse.

At the six-hour mark, he finally deigns to glance at you. Your gaze is focused on the digital audio workstation as you cut some low frequencies from the guitar on Diamond Days, but there's a slight quiver in your hands as you do it.

While Jihoon doesn't see what you're having trouble with, he can sense that you're off. He knows the signs of stress and exhaustion better than most, what with the hours he puts in.

"Aigo," he calls out to you, and his voice is a little raspy— hoarse— because he's been humming and singing for the better half of the evening. "Are you okay?"

"Still in the green," you say wryly. You had a bit of a traffic light system to refer to when talking about how far gone either of you were.

He watches intently as you implement the changes to Diamond Days, as you give a disapproving shake of your head at the revision. Still not to your standard.

Of course you wouldn't be at the red light stage— not even close, he muses. But in Jihoon's head, there was already one foot on the red light spectrum— and it wasn't just because of the revisions.

"Let's take a break," he suggests.

The idea comes out of absolutely nowhere, even for him. A break—? When was the last time he had voluntarily done that?

Jihoon's been having more questions than answers lately, but he just chalks it all up to being stressed. And maybe a little tired.

Anything except what it really is.

This time, you actually do glance up from the workstation. There's mild surprise on your expression as you tease, "Yah, who are you and what have you done to the indomitable WOOZI?"

"Huh?" he deflects. For a brief moment, he almost feels a little shy around you.

"I'm just bored," he explains, and he's surprised that he can lie so well and sound so casual. "You don't need to come if you don't want to. I just wanted to get some air."

But of course you're coming, already pushing back against the table at the rare invite from Jihoon. "The usual?" you prompt.

To others, a 'usual' might have indicated a trip to the cafeteria, a smoke break on the sidewalk. But Jihoon and you both hated the company's food and neither of you smoked, and so your breaks were spent somewhere a little more unorthodox.

"The usual," he agrees.

He leads you across the company building, the walk to your destination full of comfortable silence. Eventually, you make it to your designated break place: The company's rooftop.

Jihoon takes his usual seat at the far end while you sit closer to the ledge. The atmosphere is thick and humid from the weather, but there's a breeze to keep the heat bearable.

When Jihoon said he wanted to get some air, he meant it quite literally.

He doesn't want to give away his real intentions on calling for the break. Still, he can't help the question that slides out of him as he watches the glittering lights of Seoul beneath the two of you.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asks, glancing at you.

"I am," you answer quietly, your gaze still fixed on the city. "Thanks, Jihoon-ah. I needed this."

He almost smiles. "Of course."

This was the first time since he's met you that he'd asked you to do something just because he thought you needed it. And it isn't long until that fact has Jihoon wondering why the heck he's been putting things off so much lately.

He doesn't get to mull over his thoughts for long though— not when there's a sudden urge to do another thing that he realizes he hasn't ever done.

He takes out his phone and opens up the camera app. "Yah," he calls. "Look here for a second."

You do as he asks, glancing over your shoulder, and the soft click of his phone breaks through the white noise of the city below. When you let out a surprised laugh, he thinks it's the second best thing he's ever heard. Only after music.

"What are you doing?" you chide, a bit of a giggle in your tone as you raise your hand— palm facing Jihoon— to your face, as if trying to shy away from the camera.

"I don't know," he admits. A laugh tumbles out of him, and he knows he's blushing— but he's not ashamed of it this time, not really.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he assures you. He holds in a chuckle at the way you're blocking your face and snaps another picture.

Maybe he's delirious from all his work. That has to be it, he thinks, as he clicks away despite your sputtered protests.

"Alright, fine," you huff, feigning annoyance. And then— oh.

You brace your hands against the ledge and tilt your head to one side so you can flash Jihoon an easy, practiced grin. "Cheese," you sing-song.

It takes quite a lot of willpower for Jihoon not to just sit and stare, that strange feeling welling inside of him coming to fore. He's not proud of it, but it's there, and the fact that there's something about you that makes him feel this way makes everything a little bit more complicated.

"Cheese," he agrees, taking just one more picture of you.

He knows he's smiling too hard, his eyes turning in to crescents with just how damn fond he feels to be snapping photos at your side.

You can never tell from the expression on his face, but he's wrecked with the knowledge that he had just done three things he had never done before:

He's asked you to do something solely because he thought you needed it.

He's taken a picture of you (with your knowledge, this time).

And he's let this thing he has for you be so in control of him.

It's a damning thing, he muses as he tucks his phone away. What would happen next was up to the universe.

Admittedly, it almost all felt like a test, and Jihoon is terrified he had failed.

But then you reach out, your hand casually resting atop of Jihoon's. You don't clasp your hands together or intertwine your fingers. You merely keep it there as you cast your gaze back down at the city, like you're giving Jihoon a chance to pull away.

It's almost instinctual, how he turns his hand over and links his fingers together with yours. His fingers are longer, so your fingertips curl over his and you’re left holding his hand for the first time.

You don't say a thing about it. Jihoon tries to rationalize the action on your behalf. Maybe you're just delirious and tired, too. Maybe it's cold and you need something to hold on to. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

All the while, his heart thumps in his chest.

Did he even deserve this? Was this okay?

Would it be okay if he just sat there, looking down onto the city, holding your hand and nothing more?

His brain refrains the earlier remark he'd given you. It doesn't have to mean anything. It's just a hand in his, a quiet evening, a moment that will eventually pass.

It doesn't have to mean anything, but why does Jihoon want it to?

Back in the studio, neither of you say a word. Not about the photos of you that Jihoon now has in his phone; not about the way you initiated holding his hand. Not about how the two of you held on for just a bit too long before heading back from your break.

The two of you do what you do best: You throw ourselves in to the last of your work.

It takes you two a record of fifteen minutes to fix what had been wrong with Diamond Days, and then some twenty more minutes to make sure the three other tracks are alright. Jihoon does the honors of sending them over to Sungsoo for some final checks.

Once the email goes through, you lean back in to the couch of Jihoon's studio. "And now we wait," you exhale, sounding equally exhausted and elated.

With your work for the day done, it feels like whatever veil of formality had held the mini-album together is broken— and you're now just two people in Jihoon's workplace, tired, and done working for the day.

Jihoon stretches his arms out and sags against his chair, letting out a groan.

"And now we wait," he repeats. A beat, as he keeps his eyes trained to the ceiling. Then, softly, he adds, "You did good, you know."

He sees you glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. "You, too," you offer quietly, sincerely. "You did well, Jihoon-ah."

His eyes remain on the ceiling, his mind taking him back to how it felt when your hand rested atop of his. It had felt strange and it had felt good— and the fact that you'd so boldly initiated it in the first place made it even better.

The thought that there was a possibility of it being a one-time thing made him almost want to cry, for whatever reason.

It's just so weird, and Jihoon has never felt like this before. He's never caught in a complicated sort of feeling like this. But the way you'd held his hand was different— and the more thoughts he thought about it, he realized that your touch was different from the touch of anyone else's.

"Can we talk for a second?" is all he finds himself able to ask, and it's a surprise to him— considering how much the two of you have never talked about things that were just about you and him.

Still, he wonders that perhaps now, with everything that's happened here, there was something he needed to tell you. Something he wanted you to know.

He hears you shifting on the couch, spots a corner of your lip quirking upward in a show of interest. When he fully turns to look at you, he notices the way you've braced yourself against the back of the couch to meet his gaze.

"Sure," you say. "What's on your mind?"

Jihoon rubs his hand over his mouth as he thinks of a way to articulate his thoughts.

There are so many words here that don't need to be said. There are some words that he wants to say but that you simply don't need to hear.

There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but he needed to filter them very well because he wasn't sure if they'd cause a misunderstanding.

"I'd like to keep doing this," is what eventually comes out.

His fingers find his earlobe out of nervousness. His heartrate only seems to spike when you stare back at him for a moment, your eyebrows raised like you're waiting to see if he'll elaborate.

And so elaborate he does. "All of this," he goes on. "Producing for the group, collaborating with you, just… seeing you and talking to you and… having you around."

It feels a bit weird to express after three years of working alongside each other, but it's also the first explicit admittance Jihoon has made abut wanting to keep up your collaboration.

He's not surprised when you try to pass it off with some humor. "I'll stick around for as long as you'll have me," you say almost jokingly, but there's almost a desperate weight of truth in your words.

Jihoon sighs, his expression tightening. There was a whole lot he wanted to say to you— he wanted to make a lot of things very clear— but he also wanted to keep whatever was blooming between the two of you going.

He tries not to dwell on it. Not now, with his feelings as fresh as they were.

"I've been thinking," he starts, his voice quieter now. "Maybe we could… get to know each other or something. Spend the day together— away from the company. Away from this life. Just as… two normal adults."

Another pause.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Jihoon-ah?" you kid after a torturous minute.

Jihoon goes quiet for a moment, the gears turning in his head.

He really was asking you out on a date, wasn't he? How would he even spin this as something simple and innocent?

What had he been expecting in return when he asked you? Why did he ask in the first place if it wasn't to actually find out who you were and why you were the only person he could really say he wanted to spend time with?

Questions, no answers. He's going to go insane.

"You know what," he blurts out before he can lose his nerve. "Yeah. Yes, I am asking you out on a date."

You're both stunned in to silence, and you look like you're just about to say what you should. A 'no'. Something about this not being proper.

But then there's a faint ding from Jihoon's laptop, and he glances over just in time to see that Sungsoo had responded in the affirmative to your revisions for the group's eleventh mini-album.

A stuttering, relieved breath escapes you. Jihoon, for his part, lets out a huff, his shoulders falling. He hadn't even meant to ask you out on a date; he was only going to ask you to spend the day with him.

Now, though, it was out in the open. And he'll be damned to take it back.

"Looks like we're free now," he muses, far too prideful to let Sungsoo derail this conversation. Jihoon's voice is edged with hope as he goes on, "So, what do you say?"

Jihoon has no way of knowing this, but you admire his persistence. When you laugh, it's what changes your mind, what privately convinces you to take him up on his offer.

Because Jihoon had still somehow managed to make you laugh despite it all.

"You know what? Okay," you say readily, one shoulder raising in half a shrug. "Let's go on a date next week, Jihoon-ah."

It would definitely beat sitting in Jihoon's studio, alone and bored, until Sungsoo had sent over their next project.

"Okay," he repeats, his lips curling in a tentative smile. "I'll let you know what plans I come up with, then."

"Alright." You're already rising from the studio couch, preparing to take your leave for the evening.

As you gather your things, Jihoon tries to look back at his workstation instead. Like the sight of it might somehow give him the answers to where to take you, what to do, how to go about all this.

You pause at the door of his studio. "Text me," you say.

It's nothing short of a miracle, how Jihoon is able to respond "I will."

And then you're gone, but the loss doesn't feel as prominent as it usually does. Because now, Jihoon has something to look forward to.

He doesn't remember the last time he allowed himself to be so selfish.

His thoughts over the next few days are consumed with the upcoming date.

Everything he does seems to center around how the date will go, where he'll bring you, and how he would survive a day in your presence without completely humiliating himself.

He takes his time planning. By the time next week rolls around, he's a mess.

His ears are burning as he dials your number and presses the call button.

Your tone is casual on the other line. "Hey, Jihoon-ah," you greet. "What's up?"

Jihoon takes a moment to just hear your voice. He internally groans at how a simple what's up already has his heart rate picking up like nobody's business.

"Hey," he finally says after he gathers himself, his free hand shoving into his pocket. He's pacing his apartment bedroom, fighting for his life to keep calm. "I… just wanted to call about tomorrow."

When you respond, your voice is cautious. "Sure. What about tomorrow?"

There's a slight pause again, and Jihoon can already feel the sweat forming on the inside of his palm.

Surely, you wouldn't think he was calling to cancel? Why would he have waited until the day before?

"Just needed to ask you about something," he admits, his free hand coming up to fiddle with the hair on one side of his ear. "I just wanted to… ask a question. Uh…"

"What… are you going to be wearing?" he finally spits out, his face already going red as the words leave his mouth.

Why the fuck can't he be cool about this? Why can't he be casual and chill about the date and about seeing you? It's so goddamn frustrating— he needed to get a handle on himself and soon, he thinks with despair.

"Oh. Uh…" From the other end of the phone, you seem to be shuffling around. "I was actually going to ask what our plans were," you admit rather meekly. "So I can dress accordingly."

Jihoon's eyes widen, and for a moment, he feels even more like an idiot than he usually does.

You had no idea where you were going, he realizes, and as a result— you had no idea what to wear.

"Oh… right," he says, mentally facepalming himself. He was supposed to be the one giving you information, not the other way around. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense."

He takes a second or two to collect himself, because— God, he did not want to mess this up. If you found out about the amount of work and effort he'd put in this thing, you'd definitely laugh at him.

"Nothing too formal, but don't be super casual," he says slowly. "You'll want a jacket, maybe. And wear comfortable shoes."

He takes another deep breath, steadying himself before he adds, "And I'm going to pick you up at ten. Is that alright?"

Jihoon's instructions are a touch on the vague side, but you don't seem to mind as you let out a huff of amused laughter. "Dress warm, comfortable jacket and shoes, ten in the morning," you repeat. "Okay. Got it."

You go on, "I'll text you my address. I— we've known each other so long, but I don't think you've ever come over, have you?"

Another good point. Jihoon and you spent most of your time at the company. There were rare occasions where you'd join the group's post-comeback celebrations with the rest of the staff, but those were always at some rented-out restobar.

"Yeah. Well. Just text me, then," he says lamely, already mentally berating himself for how much of a fool he's acting. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Jihoon-ah," you bid, and he can hear the smile in your voice.

Just like that, Jihoon's heart rate picks up again— except this time, it's not just nervousness he feels.

There's that strange sense of anticipation, the slight thrill of excitement he gets with the mere thought of seeing you the next day, and he nearly lets out an exhale to quell all those feelings.

"See you," he says finally, his voice barely above a murmur.

And then suddenly— he's hanging up, the realization of everything finally settling on him. This was actually happening.

He sits on his bed for a moment, just mulling over the conversation, before he lets himself fall back onto the mattress in horror. He had just hung up, hadn't he? Did he even say goodbye? Did he even say something nice? He was a mess.

He lets out a long, pitiful whine in to a pillow as he wonders for a second or two if he should call back just to say good night to you properly.

In the end, he decides against it. He didn't want to come off as desperate and it was pretty likely that he'd just dig a deeper hole for himself.

Still, he can't help but let out an annoyed, strangled sound as he turns to look at the ceiling.

He was going to have to put a lot of effort if he didn't want to embarrass the hell out of himself.

Come the next day, Jihoon is standing outside your apartment at exactly ten in the morning.

He knocks almost tentatively, and he's only a little surprised that you swing the door open without missing a beat.

You flash him a smile in greeting. "Come in," you say, ushering him in to what he can only describe as uncharted territory. "Can I get you something to drink? Water, juice?"

He's so tripped up over how you look— the smart-casual outfit, focused on warmth, as he'd advised— that he almost misses the offer.

"Ah," he stutters. Barely a minute in and I'm already done for, he thinks ruefully. "Do you have— cola?"

You give a small sound of assent as you move further in to your apartment, towards what he assumes is the kitchen. "Make yourself at home," you call, and Jihoon is left to bear witness to your space.

It looks very much like that of an artist's. There's floor-to-ceiling corkboards on almost every wall and a blackboard full of chalk markings— bearing everything from concepts to half-finished lyrics.

You have bookshelves groaning under the weight of music albums— Jihoon sees a number of SEVENTEEN's— and instruments crammed in to nooks and crannies.

He suddenly remembers how, for some reason, you had never really let him come over to your apartment before. And now, he understands why, because your apartment almost felt like a reflection of your own brain— chaotic, but brilliant. It was a creative genius's studio, and it was more than just a little bit captivating.

You return with a can of Coke. "It's a lot, isn't it?" you muse.

Jihoon shakes his head. It is a lot. But also— he knows how gifted you are, knows how driven you can be. Seeing it here, so openly on display, has something stammering in his chest.

"Is this all your work?" he asks a moment later, still glancing around. "Is this… everything you've been working on? You've been keeping it here?"

"Not all of us have separate studios," you shoot back. There's an easy smile on your face, indicating that you're just teasing.

When you seem to realize that your initial jab hasn't answered Jihoon's question, you amend, "It's not all of my work. You should see my childhood bedroom back in Jeju."

"Jesus," he says with a slight chuckle, his fingers pressing around the metal of his soda can.

He doesn't know why the thought of your childhood room in Jeju having more of this surprises him. But, then again, that was just the kind of person you were. An ambitious, freethinking, creative genius, the same qualities he'd grown to appreciate over time.

And now he was about to go on a date with you. How the hell had he gotten this lucky?

He isn't quite sure what compels him. All he knows is that the question, almost rhetorical in nature, is out of his mouth before he can reel it back in.

"You really love music, don't you?"

The question seems to throw you off-kilter, but you recover surprisingly fast. You're thoughtfully smoothing out the patches on your denim jacket as you retort, "I love it about as much as you do."

If it had been any other person, Jihoon might have scoffed, might have privately thought they were cocky or just outright lying. But it's you, and his heart twists in to a knot at the thought of how willing he is to accept that cardinal truth.

That you and him loved music in equal measure.

In a hopeless attempt to collect himself, he shoots back his soda in several big gulps. The carbonated drink burns as it goes down his throat; he forces it to stay down.

"We should probably get going," he prompts once he's done with his drink.

"Right, of course."

You go to throw away his empty soda can for him, and the way you move makes it abundantly clear that you're unaware of the effect you have on him.

As the two of you step out of your apartment and find your way to Jihoon's car, he can only hope that it won't be that long of an afternoon.

Despite the way he keeps both hands on the steering wheel, Jihoon can still feel the nerves racing up and down his spine. He's nervous, excited, his emotions a mess as he tries to get himself together.

He can't believe that after years of talking about music and just working together, after all this goddamn time, you were finally going on a date together.

The car radio is just a touch too loud, which is to be expected, considering that it was Jihoon's vehicle. You have to pitch your voice above it to be audible.

"Where are we going?" you ask as he peels in to traffic.

"You'll see when we get there," he responds.

The disapproving pinch of your expression draws a laugh out of him. He doesn't give you the opportunity to press any longer as he fiddles with the radio dial, upping the volume just a touch more.

He'd planned this date carefully after spending far too much time agonizing over all the details. He was damned if he wasn't going to keep some things in the dark.

It's a quiet drive for the most part, with only the radio keeping the silence from being too deafening. But, frankly, Jihoon isn't too bothered by the silence because it gives him ample time to collect his thoughts, to try not to focus on the way your hand is right there, a few inches away from his on the gear shift.

He keeps his eyes on the road, keeps his expression neutral, and keeps his cards as close to his chest as possible.

Once Jihoon is finally pulling in to a parking lot, he manages to find his voice. "We're here," he notes, like it's not the most obvious thing in the world.

He waits a moment for you to also unbuckle your seatbelts, and only then does he climb out of the car. He quickly walks around to your side, pulling open the door for you and gesturing for you to follow him as he crosses the parking lot.

"What is 'here', exactly?" you ask Jihoon as you walk up to the building in front of you. It looks rather unassuming; nothing on the outside giving out what it might be. Just white walls and a sign outside that's still too far to read.

Jihoon catches the way you try to make out the sign, and he can't help but find himself feeling a touch flustered because goddammit, was he allowed to find everything you did endearing?

He clears his throat before finally answering. "A planetarium."

Now, Jihoon definitely doesn't miss the way your eyes widen, nor the small tone of excitement that betrays the otherwise casualness of your voice.

"That's cool," you say with your hands shoved in to the pockets of your jacket. "Never been to one before."

He can clearly see how excited you'd gotten just at hearing where he'd brought you. And, frankly, it just makes his pulse race all that much more.

"Well, let's go in and have a look then, shall we?" he offers, his voice a little on the quieter side as he tries valiantly to not mimic your excitement.

As you approach the building façade, the signage comes in to better view. It boasts of an immersive planetarium experience, but what stops you dead in your tracks is a note tacked on the front door.

Closed for a private event.

"Oh?" you're saying, a slight edge of disappointment in your tone. "It's looks like it's—"

But before you can finish your sentence, the door is pulling open, and an important-looking man— the manager— is already stepping up to address Jihoon.

"Mr. Lee, right on time," the employee greets with a bow. "We've set everything up for you."

The oh that escapes you, this time, is a lot softer.

Jihoon can't help the small grin that immediately works its way across his lips at your reaction. He'd been hoping to catch you by surprise, and he can tell that it worked.

He gives a polite, somewhat formal half-bow in return to the manager before glancing over his shoulder to you. There's a hint of smugness in his voice as his gaze lands on you again. "C'mon," he says as he starts making his way in to the planetarium.

The inside is mostly dark; Jihoon gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the change. There's no one else here but the two of you, and Jihoon isn't really complaining about the emptiness. It just means he can have you all to himself, without having to worry about having anyone else around.

He can hear your footsteps, following behind him, and he has to mentally remind himself to keep himself together before he finally glances over his shoulder at you.

"Surprised?" he teases, the ghost of a smirk making its way on to his face.

He revels in the look of awe on your face, the way you all but ignore him to pull a couple of steps ahead. You're surveying the lobby like it's already the main exhibit, and Jihoon has the sudden urge to rent out every gallery in Seoul for you to see.

Your next words are one-two punch on Jihoon's poor, poor heart. "I think you've got some nerve, Jihoon-ah, pulling out all the stops on our first date," you muse, your face still upturned to the entryway.

Jihoon almost trips right over his own two feet as the casualness of your words registers in his mind.

Multiple dates. You were implying that there might be multiple dates to follow. That you wanted there to be multiple dates.

He takes a quick breath, trying to maintain any semblance of a nonchalant attitude as he responds. "What?" he says, the smirk just a touch more shaky on his lips. "You think this is 'going all out'?"

He continues to walk, catching up to you a few moments later. "I'm offended. How dare you think that I'd settle for anything less than perfection."

"If this isn't 'all out' yet for you," you quip. "I'm a bit nervous as to what is."

He only responds with a small chuckle. "You'll see."

He leads you to the next room over, and this particular one is far more darker. The only source of light is from the projector against the back wall, projecting a constellation map on the opposite wall.

Jihoon glances over his shoulder once more, watching the small look of wonder on your face. He leads you to a small couch in the center of the room before sitting comfortably beside you on it.

His face is partially illuminated by the lights of the projector, and he can clearly see the way you're taking in everything around him.

"You like it, hm?" he gently prods, watching you again.

It's a lot to take in, honestly. The high ceiling, the projected constellations, the lights dancing across both your faces. Even the way the room has been rearranged— the single plush couch, the type that allows you to recline and gaze up at the faux sky of constellations— is all so damn good.

"I like it," you concede, your voice barely above a murmur. You speak like you're scared that talking any louder will break an illusion. "It's— yah, Jihoon-ah. It's so pretty."

In that moment, Jihoon almost forgets how to breathe.

There's something so soft and gentle and fond to your voice as you speak, and the way your words came out almost reverently does something to Jihoon that he couldn't quite explain.

"Pretty," he repeats, eyes still trained on you. "It is, isn't it?"

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a long time; Jihoon still watching you instead of the exhibit. You didn't just say it was pretty. You'd said it with words and tone and expression that told him just how much you loved it.

Christ, he was a goner. He was far gone for you.

After what feels like both an eternity and a second at the same time, Jihoon finally shifts his gaze away from you, glancing up at the ceiling above him. He's quiet for a few more moments before he finally speaks again.

"Y'know…" He starts, the sound of his voice just a touch quieter than usual. "When I was a kid, I always thought the stars were my favorite thing."

Jihoon glances over at you again, noticing the way you were still practically enchanted by the projected stars above you. It makes him bite back a small, amused smile, before he continues.

"I used to sit out in the field by my house and count them, name them, make up my own stories for each of them. I thought they were the most magical, most incredible things in the whole universe."

He thinks of his home back in Busan, the way the moon reflected over the sea water. He thinks of a version of him from lifetimes ago— a boy he'll never be again.

He almost misses him.

Jihoon lets out a soft huff. "And then I got older, and life got really shitty and busy, and..." His voice falters a bit. "The stars were no longer as important to me as they were before."

He exhales, the sound filling the quiet room. He can feel you listening, can feel you taking in every sincere word of his. And that's enough. That means something.

"But..." He goes on quietly. "Sometimes, there are moments that come, and the only things that matter are the stars again."

It's just like Jihoon to spew something poetic without pretense or shame. In his peripheral, he sees you glancing at him, and it takes everything for him to not let this feeling overwhelm him.

"I hope you have more moments like that, then," you say, your voice equally soft.

There was something so endearing about the sentiment you'd said, and he knew that you meant every word of it. And that made it all so much worse for his heart.

He's so whipped, it almost makes him want to laugh.

This is one of those moments, he almost says. Even if it's not real stars.

He can't help it anymore. Despite all the times he's had to keep up his usually cool, calm demeanor with you, despite his usual attitude, despite his usual shyness, the urge is just too much and—

He slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer.

That was one thing the stars could do: Give him a bit of courage.

When you don't resist his gentle tugging, he figures he can do just one more thing.

His free hand moves to your chin, gently coaxing your head up so that you’re looking at a specific point up at the ceiling.

You're so focused on the stars, you barely even register the sound of Jihoon’s voice again.

"The most special stars," he murmurs. "They all have names."

He’s still speaking into your ear, and you can feel his warm breath against your skin. "That one," he says, his voice like gravel. He slowly, carefully tilts your chin up just a little more. Coaxing you to look up even further. "Is my favorite."

His calmness is belied by the fact that his heart is a jackhammer in his chest. All he can do, really, is try to get you to look at one of the larger stars that's almost dead center in the middle.

"Why is it your favorite?" you inquire, the genuine curiosity in your tone almost mistakable for breathlessness.

"It's the brightest star in the entire sky." His gaze darts between the star and your face, the shadows of the room hiding the way his chest tightens at the sight of you listening intently. "It's called Sirius."

His voice is still soft, but there's a new note to it that you've never heard before. It's quiet, reverent, almost like he's about to tell you a secret.

"The Romans called it the 'dog star'," he continues. "Because it's the brightest star in Canis Major, the big dog constellation."

He lowers his head a little so that his chin is almost resting on your shoulder, and his arm around your shoulders tightens just a fraction.

"But to the Chinese, it was known as the 'heavenly river commander'," he goes on. "And the Arabs called it the 'chief star in heaven'."

Jihoon is getting nervous, now, but he has to do this. He has to.

It feels like the first flicker of a neon sign as he goes on, "To all those different people, it was all of those things. To me—"

He pauses, feeling the words stick in his Adam's apple.

The brightest star in the night sky.

For the longest time, Jihoon had wondered whether he would find something to call it, too. The closest he's come has been the boys, his music.

But that felt like an understatement. They weren't just a group, after all; they were his whole life. And so it was more apt to describe them as the universe, as the entire planetarium.

Which left him with the brightest star—

"To you?" you repeat, tilting your head back to meet Jihoon's gaze head on.

"What's it called to you?" you prompt.

In the relative darkness, he can't read you as well as he might have wanted.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't change what's he's going to say, anyway.

He gives you his answer—

He says your name.

And then he leans in— his heart at your feet, all yours for the taking.

[housederiva]

As a queer person, it's so wonderful to see the dev team for Veilguard, a lot of whom have been with DA since the beginning of Origins, feel comfortable enough to say that they're a part of my family

Trick telling us that their name is Trick. Corinne not needing to hide that she's a woman. Solas' VA Gareth using he/they and Neve's VA Jessica using she/they. The amount of out non-binary people involved with this project to begin with was frankly unthinkable for the majority of AAA games to me. And here's the absolute legend that is BioWare going 'no we don't need to hide who our crew is to pander to a larger consumer audience' and I'm so happy and proud of that

The majority of people out there who are going to play Dragon Age are cis straight men who don't think about us all that often and unfortunately, a sizable amount of them that do have negative intentions and aren't kind people. I've skimmed through Reddit and Twitter and there's a lot of Gamer Bros that are mad about the queerness involved within Veilguard and it worries me

It's no secret that I'm not the best with words, and I'm not really sure where I'm going with this. But the coming months up to and after the game is released, we gotta be kind to one another and correct folks who aren't speaking out of malicious intent and ignore the ones that are

I feel like as fans of the series, we owe it to the dev team to support them anyway we can and a great way to do that is by calling Trick Trick and referring to Erika as he just as often as she and everyone else by who they are. Which is so damn easy to do and the bare minimum but unfortunately a lot of people who are going to buy the game put their hatred above respect. Our love needs to be louder

[starkeygirlposts]

Boyfriend turned Step-Bro Rafe Cameron x Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You've been dating Rafe Cameron for 3 years, and one day Ward and your mom tell you they're getting married.

This is a snippet of a fic I'm going to see if I want to continue writing. Please let me know if you'd like it to be continued.

I'm not diving too deep on details or character traits in this, as it's just a blurb/idea for a full fic.

Trigger warnings: stepcest, underage, drugs, pregnancy

----

The Rafe Cameron who became your boyfriend when you were sixteen years old was not the Rafe Cameron who people referred to your step-brother at eighteen.

The complete opposite, really.

Your parents separated when you were in your sophomore year of high school, your dad moving across the country to California when he met his mistress on a business trip while you and your mom kept a tidy home. The affair nearly killed your mom, and she learned to lean on none other than your boyfriends dad.

Ward was the perfect fill-in for your mom for a while. She was just having a good time, she'd told you. "He occupies my mind Y/N, does that make me such a bad mom?" Like you being upset with your mother being however which way involved with your boyfriends dad was so out-of-this-world believable. Truth was, yes it made her a bad mom. Not just because it put you and Rafe in an uncomfortable position, but because you were struggling yourself after having your family as you knew it blown apart.

But she wasn't just "having a good time." Or rather, maybe she was having too good a time. Because on a Thursday evening at the Cameron's dinner table that you all had gathered for, Ward held your moms hand and told you all that they were getting married.

That day, your world fell apart, and Rafe started to become someone you soon would not recognize. Rafe's hand slipped from your thigh, gone the tender loving warm fingertips, drawing lazy hearts on your skin.

You looked over at Rafe before doing or saying anything to anyone else, and his eyes were higher than yours, connecting with his father's in an expression you could only imagine was pure hatred. Because Rafe could never live up to his father in any sense, and now he was taking away the one thing that kept his feet planted to the earth. Of course he was. You flinched when Rafe's chair scraped like nails on the tile flooring, as he darted from the table outside to his truck, leaving you to pick up the pieces. How badly you'd wanted to chase after him. But when your eyes connected with Ward's, the decision made for you.

You didn't even need to ask.

"Unless you want to live with your father in California, you and Rafe will stop whatever it is you two have going on." Ward had told you.

You looked to your mom as if she'd help you - feel some semblance of remorse for you. You'd met Rafe first. Three years ago. You'd been the only reason your mother even met Ward. But why should you be so surprised that what she wanted was more important than your happiness?

From that day, Rafe started slowly slipping from you. A hollow shell of the boy you loved so deeply and painfully. He'd drink himself to sleep every Friday and Saturday night, breathe cocaine on the other nights, and wave you off when you tried to ask him to slow down.

"Y/N, you want me to stop? To make you happy? What do you do anymore that makes me happy?" You'd touch his cheek and guide his head down to make his eyes meet yours, and you'd stare into them - hoping for a shimmer of your boyfriend to snap back and remember.

He'd shrug away from you, his hand brushing you off and leave you watching his back as he'd resume slowly killing not only himself, but you too. But his coldness didn't stop him from sneaking into your room past midnight to have sex with you. Not that you wish he'd stop, because you so badly craved his touch, eager for it any way he'd offer it. Mean, rough, kind, tender; you'd take any of him just to feel connected.

So when you'd texted Rafe to meet you in your room after dinner on Thursday night nearly one year after your world truly blew apart, hoping you'd get to him before the white powder did, he locked the door behind him and the black in his eyes told you he'd already gotten his fix. But your small hand came up to his chest as he approached you, seated cross legged on your pink floral bed spread, clutching the stick in your other hand. You looked up at him and when you locked eyes, he understood, because he took your hand from his chest and squeezed it in his own before leaning down to touch his lips to yours.

"I miss you, baby. My beautiful girl."

His breath was hot against your mouth, his scent so familiar and home to you. You couldn't stop the tears from falling from your eyes, your hand loosening from his hand to hold onto his forearm that connected to the fingers clutching your jaw tenderly but firmly in place, kissing you like he loved you again.

How badly you missed him, too.

"Rafe, please..."

Your hand falls and his breaks from your jaw, and you take this moment to capture his hand with your fingers and place the stick into his palm. His eyes break away from yours to look down at what you've given him, and you watch with tears streaming down your face as his brows furrow, his feet shuffling to back up and you brace yourself.

He doesn't do what you expect him to do, though. He stares so deeply down into his palm that when his eyes do reconnect with yours, confusion in his own eyes, his head tilting just the slightest and you're trembling, waiting for the shoe to drop.

"This...this is a -- you're..." His eyes screw up shut and he shakes his head like he's imagining things and he's crazy. "A baby?" He finally asks, looking up at you again and you can only nod.

"My baby?" He asks again, and you nearly scoff, because really? Was he kidding? Who else was sneaking into your room after midnight, invading your body and your thoughts?

"Yes, Rafe, I'm pregnant with your baby." You tell him, standing and he's still shaking his head, eyes bunching up as if he's being told the craziest thing in the world - because really, he is. But you've sat with this for the entire day and while your reaction wasn't as confused, you too felt the familiar disbelief.

You watch his chest rise and fall, deep breaths in and out before you're in a whirlwind and he closes the distance between you and pulls you to him, tucking your head underneath his chin, the back of your skull rested protectively in his large palm. His lips are at your forehead when he tells you

"I'm going to take care of it. They're not keeping me from my kid."

----

AH, what do you think? My ask box is open for feedback. Please feel free to use it to ask for what you'd like to see from this fic!

[tadc-harlequin-au]

God your designs are so fucking good bro, I'd love to know how the design process went

lmfao, I can give some insights

Caine's design was mostly an accident. In the scrapped initial intro animatic for this AU, he had a placeholder design until I could finalize him when I went to clean up the frames

which became this, then this, then...

He literally got designed as the animatic went on, the coat on shoulders was a subconscious approach because I blame One Piece for making me a coat-on-shoulders whore. His final coat design is mostly taken from my own oc lol

up to this point, I had no idea how he would've been colored until I did this shitpost

Pomni's is weird too

She was partially inspired by both the Circus breach crack idea, Pauline from my Unexpected Reunion AU, and Mystery!Pomni because I do love women (in suits)

so if Caine was designed overtime within an animatic, Pomni's design spanned fucking AUs-

Ragatha was literally just me thinking, "hm. what if. hear me out. maid. but tattered skirt cus puppet revolution time"

this is her VERY first appearance and it hasn't changed much since leave me alone let me enjoy women being gay

Now, Kingr is actually the closest ANY design in this AU would come to it's base inspiration Lies of P, because AUGH King of Puppets my beloved

He started as a boss design from the get go then reverse engineered to look more friendly, because by the time I was designing him, I was already incorporating the idea of Pomni having to fight bosses so she could free them from these insane forms of theirs

This idea was recycled from my other AU for fnaf btw, the Eternal Eclipse AU where Freddy has to free the other Glamrocks from their "Primal forms" by fighting them WITH THE POWER OF ROCK AND ROLLLLLLLLLL (which are GIGANTIC and INSANE, sound familiar yet?)

back to the rest, I actually didn't really know what I wanted for Jax, aside from a Cheshire Cat motif from Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland because love that mofo and Jax's constant smile reminds me of him

I guess that's why his initial design was so unnecessarily cluttered and so hard to draw, because all I knew was that I wanted it to be loose, flowy, bouncy and airy, like an actual cartoon. But, still respecting the laws of reality somewhat

and then I had to switch the outfit out, because at around this time, The Patriarch's design was finalized, and I didn't want people to start to think Jax was associated with him purely due to similar palettes. So I sneakily swapped it out with an explorer's outfit (since I was thinking of Jax as the team's scout), and tried to play it off as simply a "oh it was hard to draw"

He was even supposed to have goggles in the newer design, but I scrapped it because I'm repeating the same mistake of making him too cluttered again.

Z is a pretty straightforward one, although they diverged from the initial idea. My first thought was making them a brawler of sorts because they were initially going to be Pomni's training buddy, so I looked up "Victorian brawler" and yoinked the outfit I liked.

The concept of Z being the training dummy was then recycled to be Kingr's role instead because Kingr was more of a tank character than Z, and in turn, she became the weaponsmith

Each part of Z was also inspired by something that randomly came to mind when I was trying to wrack my brain with what parts should they have:

the hook peg is from Hiccup, the other peg is from A series of Unfortunate Events, the antler is a reference to Mystery!Zooble but combined with the Minecraft Warden's palette, spiked chokers were taken from my own sona's eel tongue. The flexible arms are very much Doc ock

Gangle... She was the hardest to design that my brain is blocking me from remembering the process because it was so traumatizing /j

I just know that like Caine, her design was also mostly an accident. Iirc, she wasn't meant to have cat ears/motif in the first place, but after I finished the mask with the <:3 face I went like "fuck it we ball" and went furry mode

I think she was also meant to have painted whiskers, and the only reason why she doesn't is I forgor 💀

There was no inspo for her outfit except maybe Disney Cinderella because I was only putting what worked and discarded what didn't (not recommended)

The double ribbon arms was literally just me thinking the ends are her little fingies, and her "feet" is just me wanting to make her ribbons look like a part of her dress and looking flowy because ew feet

anyways if you can't tell, there's a pattern here: recycle ideas, take inspo, look it up or fuck it we ball when all else fails lol

the lesson here is to not follow in my footsteps because I keep stepping on shit /lh

[phoward89]

Based on this ask & this ask Series Masterlist

Soft!Dark!Coriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, StepDaddy!Coriolanus, Stepcest, Stepdaughter!Reader, Daddy Kink, Smut, DDLG, drug use reference, cougar/cub relationship, older man/younger woman

Chapter 1:

Your mother, recently widowed for the second time, sat you and your younger brother down on the living room sofa because she had an important announcement to make. She even had your older brother, who was serving as an officer for the Peacekeepers in 12, on video call for the special announcement.

An announcement that would change the rest of your life.

“Children, I'm getting married to the Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow.”

“What the hell?...” Your younger brother, Darius, trailed off in disgust.

“Mother, I went to the Academy with that guy! He's too fucking young for you!” Your older brother, Rein, shouted.

“Oh my God, you're a cougar!” You exclaimed, trying but failing not to laugh. You found it a bit funny that your mother has managed to snag a man your older brother's age. Who would've thought. Maybe all those facelifts paid off after all…

“Will you children stop it?” Your mother scolded all three of you. “Coriolanus is a nice man who's about to declare a Senate run. He's very successful and mature for his age.”

“Sounds like he's freaky to me.” Darius, who was 13, remarked.

Oh, if only you all knew how ‘freaky’ Coriolanus Snow was. And he wasn't truly into cougars freaky either.

Snapping his fingers, causing the screen on his end in the Peacekeepers base to crackle, Rein said, “Lil bro’s right, man has to be freaky to wanna marry somebody old enough to be his mother.”

“Maybe he really likes her.” You shrugged, trying to put out any fanning fires before they flare up.

Oh boy…if only you knew who Coriolanus really liked. And it wasn't your mother, that's for sure.

“Or maybe he's marrying her for father's money?” Darius popped up with another theory.

“He was named Strabo Plinth's heir for being best friends with the man's only son. I don't see why mother's money would mean anything to him.” You told everyone, since you didn't think that a rich man would be a gold digger.

“Coriolanus Snow was always a shifty bastard.” Rein spat out in disgust. “Walked around with a stick up his ass in the Academy.” Your brother mocked the blonde your mother's now engaged too. Leaning in closer, so that his face was almost pressed up against the camera screen, he revealed, “Heard that he was given an extremely early discharge instead of being shipped to 2 for officer's training- which I'm glad for cause I would've strangled that pompous motherfucker if I had to do my training with him- cause Plinth desperately needed an heir.”

Your mother shook her head, only to order in a fed up tone, “Will all of you calm down? Whether you like it or not, I'm marrying him and he's going to be your stepfather.”

A week before the wedding you moved into Coriolanus' penthouse. It wasn't the 12th floor Corso penthouse he was raised in either. No, it was a new top floor penthouse in downtown Capitol City; in one of the Luxe Buildings. Actually, it was in the same building your friend from the Academy, Odysseus Odair, lived in.

When the Avox answered the door, your mother strolled on in like she was a queen. “Coriolanus, we're here!” She called out to your soon to be new stepfather as you and Darius walked inside of your new home.

“Rein’s right, dude looks shady as fuck, sis.” Darius whispered to you as Coriolanus came strutting down the hall in a deep red 3-piece suit, hair short on the sides and slicked back in a tight coif. “I don't trust him as far as we can throw him.”

“Be nice. He makes mom happy and he looks-” You began to tell your baby brother, only for him to cut you off with, “If you dare try to tell me that he looks happy too, then don't.” Looking between Coriolanus giving your mother a peck on the cheek, which looked more like the kiss of Judas then affectionate, and you, Darius said, “He looks like what I imagine Lucifer did before he fell from grace.”

“Don't call him Lucifer.” You chastised your brother.

“What? If the name fits…” He sing-songed with a shrug.

Coriolanus said something to your mother, only to shoo her down the hall before making his way over to you and your little brother.

“Here comes Satan.” Darius quietly whispered, never moving his mouth- much like a ventriloquist.

Coming to a stop right in front of you and your brother, Coriolanus flashed you a smile. One that was too sweet, too wide, showing off too many pearly white teeth. “Y/N.” He greeted you, your name dripping off his tongue thickly, causing your heart to race. If he was handsome looking at a distance, hell…he's hotter up close. And the way he just said your name? Holy shit…

Turning to your brother, Coriolanus’ face turned to stone. His voice was cold and clipped as he greeted him with a backhanded, "Oh, Darian isn't it?”

“Darius.” Your brother quickly corrected the tall platinum blonde looming over the two of you.

“Ah, yes, that's right.” Coriolanus nodded his head in a dismissive way. “Darius, the Avox will show you to your room.” He told your brother before snapping his hands and ordering the nearby Avox to, “Show Darius here to his room. Also, make sure his things are unpacked.”

The Avox took your brother upstairs to show him to his room while Coriolanus gave you a lingering look. A look that made your stomach do somersaults.

“I'll show you around your new home.” He told you, placing his hand on the small of your back and guiding you across the room.

“Thank you, but you don't have to do that. I know you're busy with your upcoming Senate campaign.”

“I'm your daddy now, my sweet baby girl, and daddy’ll always have plenty of time for his baby.” Coriolanus told you with a glint in his icy eyes and a husky tone in his voice. Perhaps too husky…

You didn't say a word, just let him show you the living room before bringing you into the kitchen. “We have a cook, so if there's anything special you want don't be shy to request it.”

“Is our housekeeper, Marisol, here?” You innocently asked, since you didn't see the woman (originally from 2) in the penthouse. You had assumed she'd be moving with you, since she lived with your family in your old townhouse.

“Yes-” Coriolanus heavily sighed while directing you out of the kitchen. “About that. Well, she missed her family back in the districts so she decided to go back.”

That was a lie. Marisol didn't decide to go back to 2. Coriolanus sent her back. In a pine box. Because she was too dangerous to be kept alive and around you. She cares about you too much, was warm and motherly to you. He knows that the former housekeeper would warn you away from him. Hell, would probably fight him- all to protect you from his plans.

Yes, his dark plans to finally have you.

And by have you, well, Coriolanus wants to take your innocence. He wants to be the first and only man to fuck you. He wants to be your lover, your confidant, your other half, your man.

He can't have some District 2 immigrant housekeeper ruining his plans either. Not when everything's perfectly set in place.

Yea…

Coriolanus isn't marrying your mother because he likes her, he's marrying her to get close to you. All because he's obsessed with you. And the thought of having you call him Daddy while he pounds your pussy drives him wild.

You could say that Coriolanus has a bit of a daddy kink. One that he plans on enacting with you real soon. You're 18 and you'll be graduating from the Academy soon. Now's the perfect time to get everything he wants.

After seeing the first floor of the penthouse (yea, the grand thing has 2 floors!), which included your mother sitting out on the patio deck with a cocktail in one hand and cigarette holder in the other, Coriolanus led you up the sleek, modern staircase- that had a glass wall bannister. Instead of leading you to your room, he took you over to the balcony- which had a glass wall as a railing.

“All of this is yours, my darling.” Coriolanus whispered, breath hotly fanning your ear, as his hard muscled chest pressed against your back. His large, calloused hands were on top of yours, which were holding onto the railing, as you looked down at the first floor of the penthouse. He nuzzled your hair with his prominent nose while letting out a husky promise off, “Anything you want, you desire, Daddy’ll get it for you, sweet baby girl.” His thumbs run over your knuckles as he lightly grinds his hard bulge into your ass. “Daddy’ll take such good care of his precious baby girl, now that you're all mine.”

Your brain began to explode. What the hell?! What's going on?! Is your stepdad (well soon to be stepdad in a couple of weeks) coming onto you? Yes, he's your older brother's age (they went to the Academy together), but he's marrying your mother. This can't be happening!

Oh, but yes, yes it is.

It's happening!

Coriolanus, knowing that he has to show you to your room, pulled away from you. You let you a breath you didn't even know you were holding, but you also felt a slight tingling feeling between your legs. A dampness. You know it's wrong it let Coriolanus words affect you so strongly, but they did.

“Come on, Y/N.” The platinum blonde god of a man told you, grabbing your hand and dragging you away from the balcony. “I need to show you to your room.”

“Okay.” You simply said, voice trembling a bit from the slight ache in your core.

Damn him for turning you on just a moment ago.

Coriolanus smirked at hearing the slight tension in your voice. He liked that he was making you all hot and bothered. Having such power over you thrilled him, gave his already too big ego a boost.

He pointed to a bathroom, only to tell you that it was yours before coming to a stop at your room. Across from your room were intricate French doors, trimmed in gold vining roses. With a wolfish grin, Coriolanus gestured to the doors across from your room and told you, “That's my room, my darling.” Pinning you to your door by holding your hands above your head in one of his large hands; leaning his head to ghost his lush lips over the shell of your ear, he huskily coos, “It's my room, all mine, so you're allowed to come in and spend time with me anytime you want.”

“But-” You began to object to his forward come on, since he was marrying your mother soon, but he cut you off by placing a finger on your lips. Grinding his hard bulge, which was very sizable, into you, he lustfully declared, “My room’s my own, sweet girl, so I assure you that we won't get caught.” Your eyes went wide, causing him to nibble at the sweet spot behind your ear. “I know you want to fuck me as badly as I wanna fuck you, Y/N. I can hear your labored breathing and can feel you clenching your thighs; they're rubbing against my legs.

“Coriolanus, you're marrying my mother and you're-” You began to try and reason with him, only for him to grab your chin in his hand. Squeezing it harshly, he confessed, “I don't care about that old whore. Helenium’s only a means to an end; you're the one that I want. That I crave, that I want to bury my cock deep into; fuck full of children.”

“We can't do that, Cor-” You started to say, only for him to curtly cut you off with, “Call me Coryo or Daddy.” Caressing your cheek, he lustfully smiled, “You'll be calling me Daddy while I fuck you, baby girl.”

Oh boy…you're in for it now.

You felt the heat pooling deep inside of you. Your pussy ached with such want, one that you've never felt before. And even tho you knew it was wrong, you needed relief. God, you needed to find a way to get yourself alone in your room so that you could play with your pussy.

As if he could read your mind, Coriolanus rolled his hips against yours, causing you to stifle a moan, while telling you, “You want to hide in your room, fuck your fingers, but you don't need to do that anymore. Not when you have Daddy to fuck you; make you feel good.”

The offer was tempting, but there was just one catch.

“I'm a virgin, Coryo. I-” You began to explained, only for Coriolanus to press a kiss to your lips, shushing you. All words died on your lips, causing Coryo to rest his forehead against yours and say, “Don't worry, sweet girl, Daddy’ll pop your sweet cherry when you're ready.” Your heart raced in your chest as he told you, “Daddy'll feast on your pussy, finger fuck you, and teach you how to suck cock- like a good baby girl- tonight.”

The sound of a doorknob turning and a door beginning to open caused Coriolanus to back away from you- as if he’d been burned- and scurry off into his room, leaving you leaning against the door of yours, as a nearby door slammed shut followed by footsteps coming up the hall. You just sighed, turned around, and went inside of your room.

You expected to see your things in your room, or at least boxes with your things in it, but instead you're met with a room that was baby pink. Actually, it wasn't just baby pink, but it was covered in girly decor. The furniture was white, the duvet was pink rose print, the satin sheets pink, and the pillow cases pink roses with pink ruffles. A large white mirror sat on top of a white vanity that had a vase with a single white rose perched on it, along with white pearls, and a silver compact. You also have a wooden hair bow organizer on the wall filled with bows and ribbons in various shades of white, cream, red, pink, and rose prints.

And when you inspected your closet, to see if maybe your clothes were unpacked, you noticed that you had an entirely new wardrobe. Instead of your usual clothes, your large walk-in closet was now filled with mini skirts, dresses, blouses, and sweaters in various shades of cream, white, and pink. There were even a few red items amongst the mix too. And all of your shoes were replaced with Mary Jane’s in a few different shades and a pair of designer black kitten heels. You know, the ones with the red bottoms. And don't forget about the shelf filled with designer handbags in every size in the colors of white, cream, pink, and red.

Yes, red! You had about 20 new handbags and at least 5 of them were red!

Oh my God, Coriolanus did all of this for you…

It made your head spin.

A knock sounded at your door, causing you to call out a simple come in. You expected Coriolanus to strut thru the door, but instead your little brother, Darius entered.

“Sis, daddy dearest is a fucking whackbag. He gave me a closet full of new, snobby clothes and a handbook on how to behave properly like a Snow.” Darius told you as you sat down on your vanity chair. Taking in the decor of the room, he huffed, “And he's made you the croquette aesthetic princess.” Shuddering, he waved his hand about and said, “The walls look like they've been painted in pepto bismol.”

“Darius, stop. He's just trying to be nice.” You defended Coriolanus without even thinking twice about it.

Did you secretly desire the forbidden fruit? The man whose obsession with you has led him to marry your mother. Just to get you under his roof; in his bed.

Yes.

Yes you did.

And whether you fully know it yet or not, you're sneaking into his room tonight to see if he's bluffing about what he wants to do to you.

Wandering around your room, Darius scoffed. “There's nothing nice ‘bout Satan, sissy.”

“Don't call Coryo Satan, Darius.” You scolded your brother as he opened up your dresser drawer.

“Coryo?” He asked, brow raised. “I see he managed to win you over. What'd he do, promise to give you your own black Amex?” Darius sarcastically asked, only to slam the drawer he was rooting thru shut. “That sick fuck gotcha a lingerie drawer full of lacy stuff.”

“I doubt he got it. Maybe his cousin picked them out for me, she is a stylist.”

“Yea, maybe.” Darius nodding, all the while making a mental note to keep an eye on how your new stepdaddy acted around you.

Mhm…

After seeing that panties drawer, well, your little brother didn't trust Coriolanus around you. Not that he trusted the guy to begin with.

Late that night, when everyone was asleep, you found yourself in Coriolanus' room; writhing in his bed with his head buried between your legs. Your hands clutched his platinum blonde curls tightly, letting out little mewls as he lapped at your soaking cunt. His nose bumped against your clit, causing your hips to buck-chasing your pleasure.

“Oh…Daddy…” You moaned as he began to messily eat our pussy, his head moving side to side vigorously. Oh god, could Coriolanus eat cunt. He was a natural at it; born to do it. And his skill was going to make your eyeballs roll into the back of your head, was going to make you cum for a third time.

The first time he made you cum was when he had you pressed against his bedroom door, panties pulled to the side with his long, large fingers stuffed deep inside of your pussy. The second time he has you cumming was just moments ago, when he was tongue fucking you.

Coriolanus loved hearing you call him Daddy in the bedroom. It made his hard cock even harder, of that was possible. It was such a turn on. Yes, it was dirty and taboo to be fucking with his soon to be stepdaughter (twisted even), but he didn't care. Coriolanus always did what he wanted; society be damned.

Hell, with his silver tongue he had turn society to his will. Make and change the rules. So, he's not worried about the Capitol finding out about his dark, kinky side when it comes to you- his sweet little stepdaughter. His baby girl.

He's got a plan in place of how to navigate his marriage and the corruption of you. Eh…he doesn't plan on being married that long. He just needs to find the opportune moment to get rid of your mother. Of course, after he's married to her for a little while (just long enough to get his grubby hands on all of her money; her assets, and your brother's inheritance that he tricked her into signing over to him in an updated will).

Coriolanus poisoned your first stepfather, General Prometheus Byzantine because he refused his offer of courtship for you. The General laughed in his face; told him that he'd get to you over his dead body. He also told Coriolanus that his stepchildren (you and your older brother, Rein) would not be inheriting anything from him or your mother, that your little brother, Darius, would get it all. That Coriolanus was better off finding a proper Capitol girl- perhaps one closer to his own age, to marry.

But the stoic platinum blonde didn't want just anybody, he wanted you. And he'd do anything to get you. Which’s working so far, considering he's devouring your cunt like a starving man.

“Coryo…Daddy…please…” You begged, on the verge of cumming again, as you felt the knot burning low in your depths begin to tighten

Resting his head against your thigh, he lustfully told you, “Daddy's got you, baby girl. Daddy's gonna make you cum again.”, before sucking hard and fast on your clit and pistoning two of his long fingers in and out of your cunt; curling them just right to hit that spongy spot deep inside of you.

And while your chest is heaving, moans are spilling out of your mouth, and your hips are bucking like wild, Coryo’s feasting on you like your cunt as if he hasn't eaten in years. Your juices taste so good to him, so intoxicating. He can honestly say that your pussy’s the best he's ever tasted (and he's eaten a lot of pussy); he'll even say that he craves it's sweet, tangy nectar on his tongue now.

Oh, and how eating your cunt has him so turned on. So achingly hard, that he's roughly grinding into the mattress, desperate to seek some relief. But the sloppier he eats you out, drawing moans and mewls from your sweet lips, the harder and faster he humps into the mattress. The silk sheets teasing his cock, which was trapped in his boxer briefs.

Suddenly, the tension inside of you snapped and you were cumming. Mixed moans of Coryo and Daddy filled the air as your hands tangled in Coryo’s blonde curls, shoving him deeper into your cunt as you rode out your high.

The scent of your cunt, your juices soaking not just his tongue, but his face, and you calling his name sent Coryo over the edge; had him cumming in his boxer briefs.

Once you relaxed and let go of his hair, Coryo got up and stripped out of his underwear (he couldn't wear cum filled boxer briefs all night) and then rejoined you on the bed. Laying next to you, he held his arm open- inviting you to snuggle up into his side. Having never been with a man or experienced aftercare before, you just stared at him questioningly. As if you weren't sure whether to slide up next to him or not.

“Y/N, my darling rose, come here.” Coriolanus instructed, patting the spot next to him before stretching his arm out again; making room for you.

“Okay, Daddy.” You nodded, scooting your body to lay flush against him.

Wrapping his arms around you and holding you close, he chuckled, “You don't have to call me that all the time, baby. Just when we're fucking around.”

“So, outside of the bedroom you're Coryo then.” You concluded, resting your head on his chest.

“Unless you want me to fuck your brains out somewhere risky, where we might get caught, then yea- save Daddy for in here.”

“So, you have a Daddy kink “ You stated, not asked, as Coryo started to run the tips of his calloused fingers up and down your spine.

“Yes, and I'm also a Dom.” He stated, as if he was telling you what degree he earned in University, before listing off the other kinks he has. “Kink wise, I'm into spit play, impact play, anal play, and degradation.”

What the fuck have you just gotten yourself into? That's a lot of stuff he's into. And, well, you have no idea what any of that stuff is.

“Oh…” You trailed off.

“Hey, little dove, I know you're new to this so don't worry about all the things I like. We'll ease you into it; even find out if you like something I haven't mentioned.”

“Okay.” You agreed, nodding against his chest. A chest that looked like it was sculpted by Michelangelo.

You two cuddle together for a tad bit longer, just talking about little things. But then, you let out a yawn and the platinum blonde man knew it was time to send you on your way; back to your own room across the hall.

It was a good thing that your mother had a master suite downstairs, otherwise all of your moaning might've woken her up. Unknown to both you and Coryo, your little brother Darius (at the age of 13) had a bit of a drug problem. He developed it shortly after his father, Prometheus, died. So, since he was strung out in his bedroom down the hall, your moans didn't wake him up. Infact, a bomb could go off and it won't wake up Darius.

Coryo had no idea that marrying your mother, a week after your first encounter with him, in a scheme to get all of her money along with your younger brother's inheritance (In order to give you what he felt you rightfully deserve) was going to give him the family the reporters, media outlets, and political opponents and rivals needed to skew his golden boy image. To screw up his Senate campaign.

Looks like the only thing Snow's landing on top of is you. 

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3

[sen-ya]

Sen's Important Info Post

Post last updated 10/29/24

Hey I'm Sen and I draw One Piece too much! I am terrible at keeping things easy to find, turns out when ur job is project management you don’t want to also do it in ur down time. My current theme is following the dopamine, keeping it as fun as it can be for me to draw. Below the cut is information on the different AUs & serializations I've got going on right now :^)

Important Links

[How to use Airtable]

[Sen's Digital Comic Book] - a database of every comic I've made that is woefully not updated often I am sorry. I gotta work on a better system for easy viewing.

[Life After Digital Comic Book] - a database of every page of Life After

[See Comics Early on Ko-Fi!]

[Life After Info Post] - Life After is currently on hiatus!

Posting Schedule

Thursday - Serialized Comics (current: Family AU//Forgetful)

Universe: Main Timeline

Comics that belong to this timeline are meant to follow through the events of canon, many of them were written while I was actively reading and didn't know what would happen next! Every comic that receives this tag happens in the same universe, so they may refer to each other in both plot-important and not important ways. These comics are largely LuLaw but include sprinkles of Heart Pirates (in general and as family), ZoSan, and general shenanigans.

Serializations:

Getting Together - Will they/won't they? They will, but they're gonna be stupid about it. Anything tagged into this series you can assume they haven't established that they're romantically interested in each other.

Established LuLaw - Two idiots in love. Anything tagged with this series you can assume they're together. They may not refer to each other as "boyfriend" or "partner" but whatever it is that's going on is clear to the two of them and that's what matters.

Law Loses - Most comics in this series deal with the aftermath of Winner Island. Law feels like a curse.

Goofs Only - These comics don't require serialization. They're just some good fun. If they include LawLu/LuLaw, they'll also be tagged as either "Getting Together" or "Established" so you have context for their reactions.

The Heart Bros - Law, Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi found each other as kids. Comics in this series act as glimpses into their time growing up and other brotherly interactions. This is noncompliant with the Law novel. Once they form the Heart Pirates, they consider each other brothers.

ZoSan - I don't draw these two a lot anymore, so this series is just a general ZoSan category!

Heart Pirate Shenanigans - I went all in on Heart Pirates Week 2024 and wrote a bunch of comics about the various crew members! Leaving this as an open series for when I inevitably fall down another Heart Pirate rabbit hole.

Universe: Older/Family AU

Comics that belong to this timeline are meant to follow through the events of canon, many of them were written while I was actively reading and didn't know what would happen next! Every comic that receives this tag happens in the same universe, so they may refer to each other in both plot-importanComics in this universe take place anywhere from 7 - 30 years post canon. Mostly LuLaw with sprinkles of other shenanigans. You can assume events from the main timeline are canon in this AU.

Serializations:

Accidents Happen - Law gets a cold and stops running a few effects that he'd taken for granted.

Getting Married - Did you know if two pirate captains want to get married, they can just say they're married?

Extras - This series is for posts that offer context/additional information about what's going on in the AU

Family Fluff - These are a series of comics where the focus is on Law and/or Luffy as a parent.

Forgetful - Law gets hit by a devil fruit that makes him forget everything that's happened since just before Marineford.

Get back to it - After spending some time on Zou in Rocy's first 18 months, it's time for Luffy & Law to get back to pirating.

Universe: The Worst Timeline

Comics in this universe branch off of the main timeline around Whole Cake/early Wano. These comics may refer to earlier 'main timeline' events, but what happens in them is so terrible I've refused to make them part of my own personal canon. Sometimes it's just too temping to make them suffer :^)

Serializations:

Rightfully Worried - This series is an AU in which Luffy gets the absolute shit kicked out of him in Whole Cake and when he arrives on Wano Law has to save his life. It's not the first time he's performed surgery on him, but it is the first time he's had to since he's cared so much about his patient.

The Worst Wake-Up Call - During an intense battle, Law makes a decision. The ones who love him deal with the aftermath.

[lucifersdickriderdotnet]

Emergency Contact

Summary: Having siblings sucks. Having siblings who are constantly getting into life threatening situations is worse. 5.9k words.

Disclaimer: as usual, if they're ooc no. uhm. Diavolo and Barbatos are here and they are referred to as Lucifer's boyfriends but it's in like a fun jokey teasing way that siblings do. except Lucifer actually is dating Diavolo in my head so. asmo and solomon ARE dating because I want them to be. maybe next time I'll make solomon date satan. you can only call a man a cute kitty so many times before people get ideas. if you couldn't tell by the title and the summary, people get #sick and break their #bones. oh. there is one (1) cannibalism joke. not demoncest just bros being bros.

Notes: this took so long because I've never written a decent ending in my life and i spent two days on it. also that anon really pissed me off for some reason idk. if you don't like how anyone is characterized write your own fanfiction man idk. solmare doesn't even have consistency with this nonsense. Lucifer is nice to his brothers in this because I want him to be. amen.

It’s a little known fact that Lucifer is everyone’s emergency contact. When it comes to those he cares about, he is protective, almost annoyingly so. So, it makes sense that the person who knows everything about everyone should be in charge if something goes awry. His phone hardly ever rings for emergencies, half because his brothers’ manage to get themselves out of trouble through a series of convoluted and confusing hijinks and half because most of them would rather eat nails than call him to tell him something is wrong. He’s even Barbatos’ emergency contact, despite the fact that Barbatos has never been sick or injured.

When his phone does ring, though, it’s almost always because someone has managed to damage themselves beyond repair, which is why he’s staring at the caller id on his D.D.D. like he can make it stop ringing if he glares hard enough.

“Lucifer Morningstar speaking,” it hadn’t stopped ringing and Diavolo had almost reached across the table to answer it for him.

“Hello this is Devildom General Hospital. We received a patient today and your name was on his–”

“Who.” It comes out dull and flat. He’s gripping his fork so hard he can hear the metal squeak.

“Excuse me?” The demon on the other end of the phone sounds perfectly polite but Lucifer is already so strung out all it does is grate his nerves.

“Who are you calling for?”

“Mam–”

“I’ll be right there,” he’s standing up in a hurry, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and ignoring Diavolo’s many questions as he leaves their dinner.

“Sir, if you’ll just–” he hangs up before the nurse can say anything else.

-

Mammon managed to break a bone or two in a scuffle he won’t tell Lucifer the details of.

“Do you know how hard it is to break a femur, Mammon?” Lucifer is gripping the steering wheel of the car so hard he’s surprised it hasn’t snapped in half.

“Pretty damn hard, all things considerin’.” Lucifer exhales sharply out of his nose and looks at his brother from the corner of his eye. He’s staring out of the window, and the white of his hair is dirty with mud and something red that Lucifer knows didn’t come out of his skull but worries him regardless.

“Mammon, this isn’t something to joke about.”

“I know,” he taps the hard cast of his leg with a bruised knuckle, “‘m the one with the broken bones.”

“If you know why are you doing it?” Lucifer can’t stop his voice from raising a few decibels towards the end of his sentence and has to mentally count to ten to not start screaming.

“‘Cause I just got the shit beat outta me ‘n’ I don’t wanna listen to yer lecturin’.” Mammon finally turns his head to stare at Lucifer and the elder looks away from the road for a second to meet his eyes. It’s not often that Mammon genuinely argues with him, not often that Mammon gets mad enough to let the blue of his eyes light with fury. Whatever happened tonight was not something that he wanted to happen, and it’s not something he needs a scolding for.

There’s a tense silence where Lucifer sighs and then flicks the turn signal, sliding across the lanes of traffic to take Mammon somewhere else before they go home.

“Did you win?” He’s pulling into Madame Screams’ drive through when he asks.

“‘Course I did.”

“Good.”

They both silently agree not to tell the rest of them about their little pit stop, and it’s as Lucifer’s pulling into the garage that he turns to his brother.

“Mammon.” A hum sounds from the passenger seat. “Next time, call me yourself. I don’t want it to be the hospital unless you’re physically incapable of talking.”

“Roger that.”

—

Lucifer is not known as the most comforting of his brothers. The six of them tend to rely on each other for that, going to Mammon or Beel if they have emotional troubles. Lucifer, as the oldest, is good for cleaning up messes. Putting things back together and making it look like nothing was ever amiss in the first place. It’s his job to protect them, from the world and from themselves, and he takes it seriously. Still, despite his brick wall in place of a heart and his general ineptitude when it comes to being affirming in any sense, he is not incapable of helping his brothers out of a tight spot. He’s just not preferred.

“Lucifer,” Levi’s voice is shaky and stuttering on the other end of the phone. He knew something was wrong when his phone started ringing in the middle of class. His brothers all know how much he hates distractions during class time, just like they know when he has a class so they don’t bother him. He knew something was worse when it was Levi’s name flashing across the screen. Levi refuses to call any of them unless the world is ending. He knew something was horrible when he remembered that today was one of the few days that Levi is mandated to come to campus.

“Yes?” He’s already left class walking down the hallway towards the abandoned wing where he knows Levi is. He keeps his steps measured and even, keeps his breathing calm. It won’t do to have two of them panicked at the same time.

“Are you busy?” They both know the answer to that question, just like they both know he’s going to lie.

“You caught me in the middle of a break. Why?” He tests the door handle for the swimming pool. Closed for renovations, the sign says. The same thing it’s said for the past several millennia. The door swings open without any effort on his part, the magic seal already broken before he got here.

“Would you like to go for a swim?” There’s a splash on the other end of the line. Lucifer snorts.

“I’m not one for water.” There’s silence and another splash and Lucifer lets out a heavy sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yay,” Levi says, soft and timid, and Lucifer can see him now, all of him, filling up the entire pool. He doesn’t get in yet, just removes a glove and sticks a finger in the water to let Levi know he’s here. He watches as the miles and miles of indigo scales shift and slide along each other until he’s face to face with thousands of sharp teeth.

“You’re going to break the pool again,” is what he says, voice dry. He sputters indignantly when that earns him salt water to the face. He’s soaked now, head to toe and he’s going to miss these shoes.

“Oops.” Levi’s voice is sprinkled with something mirthful, no longer halfway to tears as it was just a moment ago. “Get in. The water’s nice.”

“Yes,” Lucifer swipes a hand across his face to push his bangs back. Salt water drips into his eyes anyway. “I can see that.” 

Levi giggles and his face moves away, body coiling in, on, and over itself, too big to fully fit in the pool.

“You said you’d swim with me.”

“Yes. I suppose I did.”

Truthfully, Lucifer doesn’t like swimming. He is not a bird that is built for water, and getting wet usually means being cold and grounded for a while. Truthfully, he’d rather finally open one of the many letters Michael has sent him over the years. Truthfully, he would do anything for his brothers. Truthfully, Lucifer doesn’t think he’ll fit, but a promise is a promise, so he slides out of his uniform and climbs in.

Levi doesn’t ever tell him what made him so upset he rebroke R.A.D. 's pool, but he does leave a box of Princess’ Poison Apples on his desk the next morning, so Lucifer sets his sights on re-fixing the swimming pool. Maybe this time he’ll convince Diavolo to make it bigger.

—

Satan would rather rip his own teeth out with nothing but a Q-tip and a single milligram of ibuprofen to numb the pain than ever ask Lucifer for help. Their relationship is getting better, he will admit, but he’s filled with a rage towards the oldest that could melt even the strongest of metals, and it will take a while to temper the flame. So, no, he will not ask Lucifer for help, but, if he’s annoying enough about it, Lucifer will fix it anyways.

He starts by mentioning it to Asmo, squinting at him and saying that no, he can’t tell if Asmo’s eyeliner is uneven, because he can’t see.

“Can’t see?” Manicured fingernails are digging into his cheeks as Asmo grips his face and moves his head from side to side. He has to shelve books in his mind’s inner library to not rip his brother’s face clean off his head. 

“Doesn’t look like cataracts or anything,” Asmo hums, dropping his face. Satan massages his jaw slightly. “What do you mean you ‘can’t see’?”

“I meant what I said. Your face is slightly blurry and I can’t tell if your eyeliner is even because it just looks like a blob. Ergo. I can’t see.” Satan crosses his arms over his chest and dodges Asmo’s subsequent grabs for his face.

“Oh,” a snort, “you probably need glasses.” He turns back around to his vanity and Satan has to stop himself from saying no shit out loud.

“Glasses are for losers.”

“Lucifer wears glasses.”

“My point exactly.” Asmo twists his lipstick back down before popping the cap on and pulling open a drawer. He gestures for Satan to look inside and he does and–

“I didn’t know you wore contacts.”

“Not very many people do. Mammon has glasses too, you know. He’s sensitive to bright lights. The sunglasses indoors are not just a poor fashion statement,” Asmo sighs and shakes his head, like the image of Mammon wearing his sunglasses inside brings him physical pain. “And, I think Levi has some because all of those screens destroyed his rods and cones.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for calling you a loser.” Asmo waves him off.

“The point, Bitty, is that you wouldn’t be the first.” It wouldn’t be just you and Lucifer is what he’s saying. Satan nods and then frowns.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Why?” Asmo reaches over to poke his cheek. He narrowly avoids getting a finger bitten off. His voice rises several octaves, turning into a coo. “You’re just an itty bitty baby– Ow, dammit fine.”

-

He then proceeds to complain about it as loudly as possible, as frequently as possible. No, he can’t help Mammon with his homework, the words are bleeding together. Yes, he does have to sit front and center now because otherwise the board is unreadable. No, he did not catch that last slanderous missive about Lucifer in the R.A.D. Newspaper because he couldn’t read the draft that was sent to him for editing. (He made Belphie read the drafts to him out loud and thought that the article was funny.)

“Satan,” everytime Lucifer has to talk to him he looks constipated and it makes Satan laugh inside.

“Big Bother.” Lucifer’s eye twitches.

“You have an appointment with the optometrist. Get in the car.” Satan sets his book down.

“Can’t Mammon take me?” He doesn’t want Mammon to take him. Still, it’s funny to see the vein pop on Lucifer’s forehead.

“... Get in the fucking car.”

Satan plays heavy metal in the car because he knows Lucifer hates it and makes him sit in the lobby during the actual check up because he thinks it’s funny to watch his leg bounce up and down. (And because Lucifer gets a copy of all of their medical records anyway. The freak probably checked Satan’s eyes himself while he was sleeping and already knows his prescription.)

“Those glasses look nice on you,” is all Lucifer says when he picks out the frames.

“I changed my mind. I hate these ones.” (He doesn’t.)

—

He’d been in his room, up to his eyes in paperwork when his phone rang. It’s not unusual for Asmo to call him, the younger always wanting to chat and gossip for as long as Lucifer will pretend to listen, but it is unusual for him to call in the middle of an Asmo Night.

“Hi Asmo, what–”

“Lucy!!” He has to pull the phone away from his ear to avoid rupturing the drum.

“I believe I have asked you not to–”

“Hey! Give me my–” There’s a scuffle on the other end before a voice that Lucifer recognizes as Solomon’s starts speaking.

“Lucifer! I believe Asmodeus has had enough for tonight and needs to be deposited home. I would do it myself, but as per our agreement, I am not allowed–”

“Within twenty feet of my front door. Yes, I know. I’ll come get him. Please keep him out of trouble until I get there.” He rubs the bridge of his nose before standing up and making his way to the door.

“Wonderful! Now, about that pact–” Lucifer hangs up before Solomon can finish the question and hits Levi’s door on the way down the stairs.

“Bed, Leviathan.” There’s a small squeak in response. “Or at least pretend to be sleeping. I can hear your game from out here.” The RPG music leaking from Levi’s room into the hallway quiets drastically.

He stops by the kitchen to find Asmo his crackers and a bottle of water before leaving, instructing Beel to carry himself and Belphie to bed on his way out.

Lucifer does not like parties. He thinks they are loud and annoying and too many people try to get handsy with him when really all he wants is to drink his Demonus in peace. He’s dealing with that now, batting off people’s hands and ignoring requests for a night alone as he makes his way to Asmo’s booth.

“Asmo,” Solomon’s voice is soft and fond as he rouses Asmo from a short nap, “Lucifer’s here. It’s time to go.”

“Mmkay.” Asmo rubs his eyes and gives Solomon a peck on the lips that Lucifer has to fight the urge to gag at. He crawls out of the booth and grabs Lucifer’s hand, and somehow the crowd parts to let him past with no fuss. They barely make it outside before Asmo is hurling all over the sidewalk and Lucifer is remembering that Asmo smells like warm, sugared peaches.

Asmo smells like peaches. Allegedly, he smells like whatever is the most alluring to you, but Lucifer thinks he has always smelled like peaches. He smells like the holy peach cobbler that Michael used to make in the Celestial Realm. Asmo smells like the peach flavored macarons that Barbatos makes when he and Lucifer have tea. He smells like the Georgia peaches the human made him try once. Asmo smells like peaches, he smells like home and love and care, and you would have to hold Lucifer at gunpoint to get him to admit this to his brother.

And now, Lucifer is getting a face full of that smell mixed with vomit as Asmo leans over a bush and loses whatever meager dinner Beel had shoved in him as well as half his body weight in alcohol. There’s a flash from the corner of his eye and he makes a mental note to follow up on that.

“It will sound hypocritical coming from me,” he starts and is promptly interrupted by another retch.

“Then don’t–good Diavolo, that tastes awful–say it.” Asmo takes the water bottle that Lucifer dutifully hands him and rinses his mouth out.

“Are you done?” Lucifer starts fishing around his jacket pocket for a pack of Asmo’s favorite crackers. They taste like flowers, allegedly, and they're one of the few things that Beel genuinely doesn’t like to eat.

“For now.” Asmo takes the crackers and starts munching on them gratefully, leaning heavily into Lucifer’s side as they both walk home.

“Thank you for coming,” he says. Lucifer scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I would never leave one of you alone.”

“Aww, that’s so–”

“The paperwork alone would take at least a decade.”

“Nevermind.”

-

If Lucifer hunts down the demon who took the picture and threatens them within an inch of their life, that’s between him and his Father. And if Asmo finds out and gives Lucifer a hug at breakfast the following morning, that’s between him and Mammon’s camera roll.

—

Lucifer hates Fangol. Well, that’s not true. He admires the dedication someone has to have to play it and to play it well. He admits that sometimes it’s fun to go to games and get caught up in the hype of the crowd. He also likes that it makes Beel happy. What he doesn’t like is sitting in the stands as his second youngest brother makes a game winning play and then gets tackled onto the turf so hard you can hear the sound his head makes when it hits the ground.

The crowd goes silent and the players and the band take a knee and Lucifer is half dragging half carrying Belphie down the stands to the ambulance as the EMT’s check over their brother.

“Sir, I understand–” The paramedic cuts themself off when they see whose shadows are looming over them. They heave a sigh and gesture to a patch of grass near where they have Beel laying on a gurney. “Try to avoid being in our way.”

It’s a fight to keep Belphie from being underfoot, but there isn’t one when Lucifer says he’s riding in the ambulance with Beel to the hospital. Only a curt nod and then a muttered threat in his ear that he rolls his eyes at and then their off.

“Sorry.” It’s the first thing out of Beel’s mouth after he’s done being asked routine questions.

“It’s not like you asked to receive a concussion.”

“We don’t know that it’s a concussion,” Beel says, wagging his finger slowly. Lucifer rolls his eyes.

“You told the paramedic you wanted to throw up and pass out at the same time.”

“Average Beelzebub activities.” It makes Lucifer snort, lips twitching up into a smile.

“That is the exact opposite of a Beelzebub activity. You’ll be okay, though.” The you have to be goes unsaid.

It turns out to be a concussion and Beel is barred from playing for a while and then everything is fine.

-

Lucifer has changed his mind, he definitely hates Fangol. He has half a mind to ban Beel from ever playing it again, but if he didn’t have something to focus his energy on, they wouldn’t have a House to live in.

He stayed home from the game, wanting to relax, for once, with a new cursed record and a bottle of his prized Demonus. He might have also paused the record to watch the stream of the game on his phone, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s busy cussing out one of the commentators for their clear bias against Beel–they haven’t been angels in literally thousands of years, people need to find a new excuse–when it cuts suddenly from a replay of the last down to a live feed from the field. And then his phone rings.

“Mammon,” he already knows what happened before he picks up.

“I know ya said not ta call ya tonight, but,” he sounds haggard, and his accent gets thicker when he’s panicking, “ya also said not ta let the hospital call ya so–”

“Mammon,” it comes out snappier than he wants it to and he has to soften his voice when he opens his mouth again, “breathe. What’s happened?”

“Dear Father who art in Heaven–” Lucifer curses again because Mammon only reverts to praying when something is seriously wrong. “Beel got tackled ‘nd– Lucifer, ya could hear the crunch from Diavolo’s good seats.” Lucifer sucks in a breath and considers sending up a couple prayers himself.

“I’m on my way. Beel will– Beel will be okay, Mammon. He’s strong.” He hears Mammon’s assent from the other end of the line just as he hears Levi mumble something to Mammon.

“Oh, yer kiddin’.”

“What? Mammon, what’s going on?”

“We can’t fin’ Belphie.”

“Shit.”

-

If Lucifer breaks traffic laws on his way to the stadium, no one who pulls him over will be able to make anything stick for very long. He watches as the ambulance pulls away and his D.D.D. buzzes with a message.

Mams

I went with Beel. Everyone’s still tryna find Belphie.

“Lucifer–” he’s met with an armful of brothers before he can put his phone back in his pocket and he’s not strong enough to pretend he doesn’t want to hug them back.

“Did you find–”

“No, obviously not Levi, he just fucking got here.”

“Satan, now is not the time–”

“I’ll decide when the fucking time is, Asmo. Did you see what they did to our–”

“Yeah, I was sitting right next to you. You’re not the only one who’s upset–”

“Guys,” Lucifer raises his voice above their arguing. “Now is not the time.” He hands Diavolo his keys, grateful, for once, at his many attempts to bond with his brothers. “Will you please take them to the hospital? I have a brother to find.”

It doesn’t take him long to find Belphie, but it does take a toll on his knees.

“Belphegor.” He wonders how the youngest climbed on top of the press box without anyone noticing.

“The stadium lights are too bright,” Belphie says, “you can’t see the stars. They drown them out. It’s a bad omen, Lucifer.”

“Belphegor, please come back down.”

“I can’t see them, Lucifer.” His voice is thick with tears.

“They’re still there, Belphie. I promise.”

“We made them together, and I can’t see them.”

“If you come back down we can visit Beel and the two of you can find them together.” Diavolo’s Father help him, he is not climbing on top of that box to bring Belphie down himself.

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

The bad thing about the press box for the R.A.D. stadium, is that the ladder has rusted away. People never go on top of it to watch or film the game anymore because they started to use magic to get the good camera angles. The bad thing about the press box is that when Belphie makes to climb down he slips and has nothing to grab and lands on the concrete stadium seating with a snap that makes Lucifer’s stomach churn.

-

“I can’t believe you fell while getting down. That’s like, one hundred times easier than goin’ up.” Mammon is beside himself with laughter while he doodles on Belphie’s cast.

“Haha. Laugh it up Mammon. When I’m out of this thing, I’m going to break every bone in your body.” Mammon rolls his eyes at Belphie’s threat.

“The witches have used that one before. Try again.”

“What are you, a magic eight ball?”

“Reply hazy. Try again later.”

“You know,” Asmo says from his spot opposite Mammon, doodling on Beel’s cast, “it is kind of cool that you guys managed to break the same bone.”

“It’s because we’re twins.” Beel says, smiling brightly.

“Yeah,” Satan snorts, “or cause you’re both stupid.”

“I’m just glad you’re both okay,” Levi cuts in before Belphie and Satan can start in on each other.

“Indeed. Although, I believe it’s best that Fangol is heading into its off season.” Lucifer says, and there’s noises of agreement throughout the room.

—

It’s a simple fact of life that Lucifer doesn’t get sick. The Demon King is asleep, the Earth’s year is 365 (365.25) days long, the Crown Prince of the Devildom hates pickles, Michael is a massive loser, and Lucifer doesn’t get sick. He does not get sick or injured or cursed or hexed or anything of the sort because he does not have the time. Except. Except he is most definitely sick right now.

Belphie realized something was wrong when Lucifer didn’t come down for breakfast. He’s a stickler for meal times, always wanting them to share a meal together. Something about family and tradition and will you just do what I say for once that Belphie doesn’t care about or want to listen to. He comes to breakfast and dinner and lunch on the weekends anyway, because Beel does, not because Lucifer wants him to. So, when he looks up from his spot at the table, the cloth permanently drool stained despite the oldest’s best efforts, and watches all of his brothers leave except Lucifer, he gets confused.

“Beel,” he asks, tilting his head just so, “did Lucifer have a meeting today?” Usually he would tell them. Several times throughout the week if it was planned and then again in the morning before he leaves. He’s weird like that, he doesn’t like not knowing where everyone is. Belphie thinks he’s a control freak, even if he finds knowing his brother’s whereabouts comforting.

“No,” Beel says this around a mouthful of muffin, “I don’t think so.”

“Hmm. Well. I guess we’ll see him at school.”

-

They do not, in fact, see him at school. Mammon shares first period with him, which means he can never skip the first hour and a half of R.A.D. Except today, there’s no harsh pokes in his back whenever he starts to zone out, and there’s no pointed coughs when he pulls out his phone and starts playing games. He looks around and there’s no Lucifer.

Demon Brothers

Mams: ayo. where is. lucifer.

Catan: he’s not in class?

Mams: if he was I wouldn’t be askin.

Catan: the phone screen makes you bold, brother. watch yourself.

Mams: o7 aye aye cap’n.

Beel: Belphie says he wasn’t at breakfast either

Mams: is belphie’s phone broke???

Beel: he says typing is too much effort

Mams: understandable have a nice day

Asmo: o.o Lucifer not at breakfast? But he’s always weird when we miss it!

Catan: typical Lucifer hypocrisy

Levs: you know he can still read this chat right?

Catan: when has that ever stopped me -_-

Levs: you guys have hit like all of the Summoning Lucifer Bullet Points

Levs: 1. Mention his name fifty times

Levs: 2. Blow up his phone

Levs: 3. Text during class time

Levs: 4. Slander him at least once

Levs: 5. Ask about his private business/goings on

Beel: and yet

Mams: no Lucifer

-

The real header comes during the afternoon, when Lucifer doesn’t show up to the scheduled Student Council Meeting.

“Alrighty!” Diavolo says, chipper as ever, “when Lucifer gets here, we’ll start the meeting. He has all of the paperwork, anyway.” 

So they wait. And they wait.

“Yo, dude,” Mammon calls to Diavolo and he turns his head, Barbatos coughs into his fist at the lack of formality. “I don’t think Lucifer is gonna show.”

“Yeah,” Belphie yawns, “he wasn’t in school today, either.”

“Or at breakfast, apparently.” Levi says, though it’s hard to hear him over the music of his game.

“That is. Odd. Is he still at home, then?” Diavolo pulls out his phone and starts texting.

“No use,” Asmo says, “we’ve been bothering him all day.”

“Privately and in the group chat,” Satan adds. “Though, he may not have opened my messages because they were all cursed.”

“He didn’t open mine either,” Beel says. “I think he’s just been off his phone.”

“Unusual,” Barbatos says, stepping out of his shadowy corner. “Perhaps something is amiss?”

“With Lucifer?” Asmo sounds incredulous, lowering his compact just long enough to arch an eyebrow at the butler before tapping more powder on his face. “Nothing is ever wrong with Lucifer.” Belphie yawns before nodding in agreement and adding his own two cents.

“Even when we curse him things aren’t wrong. He always manages to make it seem so … normal.”

“I remember that time his pants kept falling down,” Levi says. “I thought it would make him less intimidating. I was wrong.” He shudders. “Very wrong.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Barbatos says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why does he do anythin’?” Mammon stands up as he says this, grabbing his bag and his phone and making his way towards the door. “Lucifer does what he wants and shows no remorse for it.” There’s a pause where he remembers the Fall. “Mosta the time.”

“Well, if we aren’t going to do anything,” Asmo’s compact shuts with a click, “I have people to do and things to see.”

“It’s ‘things to do and people to see’, Asmo,” Satan says, following his brothers out.

“I know what I said.”

Barbatos and Diavolo watch as the brothers leave, one by one, all citing different excuses before sharing a look.

“Is it rude to stop by people’s homes uninvited, Barbatos?” Diavolo asks, pushing his chair back.

“Yes. But in cases where Lucifer is concerned, manners and politeness have never stopped you, my Lord.” Barbatos follows behind the Prince, steps silent in contrast to the clacking of Diavolo’s shoes on the Academy’s stone floors. Diavolo’s laugh echoes throughout the hallway.

“I suppose you’re right. Come, I believe I must pay a visit to my right hand.”

“Always.”

-

The House is cold when Diavolo gets there. He can hear Beel rummaging in the kitchen, and Belphie’s soft snores accompanying him. He can hear Levi and Mammon fighting over something and he can hear the thud of books falling over in Satan’s room. He can hear Asmo because Asmo greets him when he enters.

“Oh, hey!” He waves excitedly, before pointing at his feet. “Which shoes do you think look better with this outfit?”

“I think they both look nice,” Diavolo replies and Asmo pouts.

“Not helpful.”

“The ones on your left, Asmodeus.” Barbatos’ eyes peer from behind Diavolo’s shoulder and Asmo smiles in response.

“Thanks! Hey,” he tugs the shoe on his right foot off and tosses it into a pile next to the door before grabbing his left foot’s twin from seemingly nowhere, “you guys didn’t see Solomon out there, did you?”

“I thought I told you that he isn’t allowed within twenty feet of the front door.” Lucifer’s normal baritone is raspy with sickness, vocal cords raw from coughing.

“He’s not going to be within twenty feet. He’s going to stand an inch outside of the barrier.” Asmo turns and places his hands on his brother’s shoulders, spinning him around and pushing him back towards the living room. “I also thought I told you to lie down and sleep. I suppose we both aren’t good at listening, hmm?” Lucifer grumbles at him despite following Asmo’s guidance to the couch.

“I heard the door open.” Diavolo follows the duo towards the living room, Barbatos his ever present shadow.

“There are six other people who can answer it.” He watches as Asmo pushes Lucifer into a sitting position and shoves blankets around him.

“That’s what I worry about.” Asmo rolls his eyes.

“Stop being a baby and just lay down. How can you catch Mammon and string him up by his toenails if you can’t go a second without coughing?”

“I can,” Lucifer pauses to cough, “I can take any one of you down, even in this weakened state.”

There’s a snort from the entrance to the kitchen as the twins walk in, Beel carrying soup and Belphie carrying nothing.

“You couldn’t block even the lowest level curse from Satan at this rate.” Belphie says, curling up on the couch next to Lucifer and resting his head on his lap.

“I could–”

“You’re very strong, Lucifer,” Asmo placates, patting his older brother’s head condescendingly. “Now, eat your soup and shut up. I have a date to get to and I’m running late.”

“Maybe I should cough on you so you can’t go anymore.” The threat is empty, but Asmo’s smile still sharpens in response.

“Maybe I should take a seam ripper to all of your clothes,” he turns on his heel. “Oh, also. Diavolo is here.” The responding squawk Lucifer lets out sends him into another coughing fit, one that disrupts the sleeping Belphie on his lap.

“My Lord,” Lucifer makes to get up and is physically yanked back down by Belphie, “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

“No worries! You didn’t show up to the meeting today, and you weren’t answering your phone, so I stopped by to see how you were.” Diavolo gestures to the bottles of cold medicine on the coffee table and the bowl of soup being shoved at Lucifer by Beel. “It seems you are all taken care of.”

“Indeed. I appreciate your concern–”

“Beel, Lucifer’s boyfriend was worried about him. Isn’t that sweet?” Beel nods at Belphie’s joke, resting his head against the side of Lucifer’s knee from his newly acquired spot on the floor.

“The sweetest. Someone tell Asmo he’s being beaten in the best boyfriend competition.” There’s twin thunks as Lucifer smacks the both of them on the head, face now flushed with something other than fever.

“That’s enough out of you two.” He sighs and looks back up at Diavolo and Barbatos. “Would the two of you like to stay for dinner? Satan’s in charge tonight and he likely won’t poison it since I’m too ill to eat much of anything.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Diavolo sits in an empty armchair that he thinks is Lucifer’s regular seat when his phone buzzes.

Emergency Chat ONLY

Belphie: hey satan, lucifer’s boyfriend is staying for dinner

Catan: man. now I can’t put this human world poison I found in it.

Belphie: probably wouldn’t work anyway

Beel: Barbatos is also staying

Belphie: my apologies Beel. you’re right

Belphie: lucifer’s boyfriendS are staying for dinner

Levs: this is great

Levs: I wanted to talk to Diavolo about the new chapter of the manga we’re reading

Mams: the rule is no loser talk at the dinner table

Levs: why do you open your mouth so much then

Mams: i’m gonna fucken get you

Asmo: if Lucifer gets to bring his boyfriends why can’t i bring Solomon

Catan: because Solomon sucks.

Catan: actually

Catan: would Solomon be able to con a fever high Lucifer into a pact

Mams: the downside here is that Solomon would be at dinner

Beel: I’d lose my appetite

Asmo: he’s not that bad

Asmo: and don’t lie Beel

Asmo: we aren’t going to let him cook

Asmo: we aren’t stupid

Lucifer: This chat is for emergencies only.

Belphie: i know. that’s why we’re discussing dinner

Lucifer: If I see Solomon anywhere near the House I will find a way to reverse his immortality.

Catan: wear a blindfold

Asmo: kinky

Catan: freak

Lucifer: I believe I also told you to stop referring to Diavolo and Barbatos as my boyfriends.

Mams: sucks 2 suck

Levs: L moment

Lucifer: I also believe they are in this chat.

Belphie: i know. that’s why we’re discussing dinner.

Belphie: keep up old man

Lucifer: I will remind you that you’re laying in my lap.

Belphie: what’re you gonna do

Belphie: cough on me??

Levs: chat, clip this

Mams: what was that scream???

Diavolo: Belphegor.

Barbs: Lucifer did more than just “cough on him.”

Mams: oh damn.

Mams: so what’s for dinner 

Beel: Lucifer says Belphegor stew

Mams: I thought it was Satan’s turn to cook????????

Catan: lucifer just tried to shove belphie in the oven.

Barbatos: With no seasoning? How revolting.

Diavolo: Demons taste better fried, anyway.

Mams: PARDON???

[okiedokrie]

Orgasmic October Masterlist

Summary: Three different stories for October

Characters/Pairing(s): Joshua, Minghao, Jeonghan X F!Reader (Separately), OCs

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Crack, Horror

AUs/Trope info: Non-Idol!AU, Demon!AU, College!AU, Sugar Mommy!AU, Aged-up!AU, Muse!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Contract Relationship, Pregnancy, (More to list)

Total Word Count: TBA

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, references to witch trials, infidelity, individual warnings per story

Rating: 18+

A/N: This is a remaster of a series called Arousal August I've written before, repurposing the wips and stories for this year!

INFERNO

Summary: The witch trials are in full swing, the church ordered for all witches to be burned at the stake. From morning until the night, you pray for those who turned their back against God. But a knock at your door startled you, the church, in desparation, accused you of witchcraft. Only then did you realize that your God has long forsaken you. Now, you make a deal with the Devil.

Characters/Pairing(s): Demon!Joshua X F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Horror

AUs/Trope info: Demon!AU, Contract Relationship

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: References to witch trials, religious terminologies, oral (f receiving), slight overstim, taking virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, literally talking about giving birth to the anti-christ, killing everyone (im being serious)

Rating: 18+

A/N: Dedicated to the ji to my han @nebulousbrainsoup

Read Here!

High Infidelity

Summary: There are many different ways that you could kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough. So what happens when you find someone who was all too willing to give you thee attention you craved, you said you'd only dip your toes into the idea, and yet, you find yourself already drowning. The novel you've been writing has been in progress for the better half of two years now, your writer's block beating you up, and your husband hasn't shown you any sympathy. Maybe a visit to the art exhibit from this new artist would jog your creativity, but what happens when this new artist offers you more than just relief from your writer's block?

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, afab!reader, wears dresses, lmk if i miss something!! (Smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: Already uploaded this like,,, a few months ago IUERGF

Read Here!

Sugar? Yes, please!

Summary: "Fuuu-" Jeonghan said as the email stared back at him, his scholarship didn't cover the last semester of his degree. "Should I get a sugar mommy?" He asks to himself, and you know what? Milfs. That's enough of a reason- oh yeah his scholarship too. But uh, his sugar mommy wants a baby in exchange for his tuition fee???

Characters/Pairing(s): College Student!Jeonghan X Sugar Mommy!F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Crack

AUs/Trope info: College!AU, Sugar Mommy!AU, Contract Relationship

Word Count: TBA

Warnings: References and depictions of pregnancy, bro discovered his breeding kink, Milfs, smut warnings TBA

Rating: 18+

A/N: -

Read Here!

[fvnalgirlcomplex]

PRETTY ISN’T PRETTY ✸ J. HUGHES

and it begins!! this is irl but also mostly social media au because my tumblr is/was acting up and deleted most of what i had written and.. i’m lazy so!!! reader is referred to as ‘you’ and their looks are talked about but i tried to avoid describing looks… however… reader doesn’t have blonde hair but listen like every nhl fic uses a blonde girl for the fc so. i think its justified!! but sorry to anyone blonde reading lol. i didn’t rlly know how to end this tbh but i hope it’s still good and i hope u like it!! remember that you are beautiful! any negative things said obviously aren’t true :)

warnings: light mention/implication of an eating disorder, insecurities, hate comments, reader gets picked up (lowkey manhandled a little bit), suggestive comments (2), unedited writing

masterlist, series masterlist

fc: olivia rodrigo ( oliviarodrigo on ig )

summary: dating jack wasn’t gonna be easy, you knew that. you just thought him traveling a lot was gonna be the hardest, not being picked apart by his fans.

bought a bunch of makeup,

tryna cover up my face

i started to skip lunch,

stopped eatin’ cake on birthdays

youruser

liked by lhughes and 56,890 others

youruser 22!! shout out to cole caulfield

view 182 comments…

colecaulfield thank you for the shout out. I really needed it.

youruser anything for a fan

user19 she’s so cocky omg

yourfriend the cake was so good! you should’ve had some :(

youruser the cake wasn’t very big and i don’t really like cake that much anyways lol glad you liked it though!!

jackhughes ❤️

liked by youruser

user373 at least she chose a blurry pic so we don’t have to see her face lmaoo

jackhughes

liked by trevorzegras and 120,293 others

jackhughes birthday girl 🎂

view 367 comments…

_quinnhughes haps

youruser damn. not even a full sentence 😔

user14 even his brother doesn’t like her lmao 💀

user298 i hope she knows she’s public enemy #1

user63 bro could do sm better

trevorzegras big! 22! 2️⃣2️⃣

user86 the way she looks at him though 🥹

user7 no..

user329 why are you so miserable

user738 he did her so dirty with the second picture 😭 makeup can only do so much but somehow she looks even worse than i imagined with no makeup

“I didn’t know it was such a big deal—”

“It shouldn’t have to be a big deal, Jack! I asked you not to post it, I don’t understand why you don’t listen!”

Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you were taking your insecurities out on Jack when it really wasn’t his fault. But, it’s hard to stay calm when you’ve started to hate what you see everytime you look in the mirror, or someone takes a picture of you and that’s when you have makeup on. Words couldn’t describe how gross you feel without makeup on.

“I think you look gorgeous. I don’t know what the issue is.” Jack responded, too nonchalantly for your liking.

“The issue is that I don’t think I look gorgeous so I don’t want it out in the world for all your fans to see.” Jack sighed at your response. He knew what this was about but to him, you the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. He just couldn’t grasp how someone like you could be insecure.

“Y/n…” He said softly, grabbing the sides of your face. The mood in the room had quickly changed from tense to sad as soon as the word fans was mentioned. “You’re stunning. I know you don’t believe me but, you really are. All those comments are from a bunch of teenage girls who are jealous. I know it’s hard to block out but you just have to try ‘cause I wanna show everyone how pretty my girl is, okay?” Jack finished, trying to cheer you up. It didn’t really work to be honest but still, through glass eyes, you looked up at him and nodded before he brought you into a comforting hug.

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But it wasn’t just teen fan girls. It was also grown men. Men your boyfriends age who thought you were just as hideous. They couldn’t have been doing it for the same reasons as the fan girls. They had to have just been being honest, right?

‘cause there’s always somethin’ missin’

there’s always somethin’ in the mirror

that i think looks wrong

when pretty isn’t pretty enough,

what do you do?

You loved spending time with Jack. And you also loved getting to spend time with the people he cared about. But the pressure of looking good before going knowing that pictures would be taken, with or without you knowing, made you want to puke.

You started planning out your outfits far in advance, what shoes, how you’d do you hair, your makeup. Everything. You told yourself over and over again that the outfit is cute. You asked Jack about it and he always reassured you that you would look beautiful in anything and the friends you’d ask say the same thing.

But that still wasn’t enough to stop your brain from making you think everything was wrong. No matter you were wearing, when you looked in the mirror it just looked… wrong. Like something was missing.

“Babe?” Your boyfriends voice came softly through the bedroom door. Jack had invited you to the Devils Halloween Party this year which would be your first New Jersey Devils event. Jack and Luke were wearing matching spider-man costumes with Nico and Dawson who were currently at the brothers apartment. “You ready?” He asked you as he poked his head into the bedroom before fully stepping in, closing the door behind him.

“Yeah, I was just looking for my cat ears.” Lie. You were overanalyzing yourself like you always did before you went out but you knew if you told Jack that he’d feel bad and tell you that you didn’t have to go if you weren’t comfortable.

It wasn’t clear if Jack really believed your lie but he glanced around the room for the headband anyways before finding it on the edge of the bed next to you and placing them on your head for you.

Still sitting on the edge of the bed from when you were putting on your boots before you caught a look at yourself in the mirror, you looked up at Jack, who’s hands stayed on the side of your face after gently placing the headband on you.

Words weren’t exchanged as he looked at you, his thumbs tenderly moving over cheeks. He moved down to place a lovingly soft kiss on your forehead and then your lipstick covered lips.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered against your mouth. You almost believed him.

njdwag.updates

liked by jackhughes and 2,384 others

njdwag.updates y/n at the halloween party with a fellow wag. she went as a black cat 🐈‍⬛

view 103 comments…

theotherwag sweetest girl to ever exist 🩷

user273 jacks like 🥹

user33 is this a safe space?

user649 depends…

user33 i love yn. and i love yn and jack!! they’re so cute and it’s so obvious everyone that hates her is just jealous :/

user472 REAL!!! they claim to be fans of jack but hate to see him happy… like something isn’t adding up??

liked by 208 others

user634 wait jack went as spider-man and she went as a black cat?? she’s kinda funny for that

user710 jack probably didn’t want to outright match with her 💀

user845 her standing next to another wag.. this is so sad like jack!! wake up!!

and everybody’s keepin’ it up, so you think it’s you

i could change up my body and change up my face

i could try every lipstick in every shade

but i’d always feel the same

‘cause pretty isn’t pretty enough anyways

njdwags

liked by 1,266 others

njdwags y/n y/l/n at her colleges football game with friends!

view 103 comments…

user968 everytime there’s a picture of her standing next to someone it really highlights how ugly she is LMAO

user263 idk why people hate her sm she’s so pretty

user945 she’s even prettier in person! i met her at the game and she was so nice. it’s so sad to see all the hate she gets :(

liked by njdwags

user293 we have class together!! she’s literally so sweet and smart

user683 ugly ass

user78 she chose a college football game over her boyfriends hockey game…

user537 why does she always have her tongue out 💀

and i try to ignorе it, but it's everythin' i see

it’s on the poster on the wall, it's in like every magazine

it’s in my phone, it's in my head, it's in the boys i bring to bed

it’s all around, it's all the time, i don't know why i even try

It’s like you couldn’t stop yourself from reading comments on posts about you. You knew you should ignore but it seemed impossible to ignore at this point.

You knew the comments would be negative like they always were but you always had hope they would be nice for once. And there was nice ones sometimes! But most were so overwhelmingly negative, you couldn’t even focus on the positives.

And it wasn’t just comments either, no. Not anymore at least. Since, you’ve read the comments, it’s like all the negative has leaked out of your phone and into every aspect of your life.

It was when you visited your family over winter break, you had totally forgotten about the posters you had in past years of icons from your childhood. Icons who were so how all skinny or blonde or had stunning blue eyes or all three. The break was supposed to get you away from all that and yet, you still cried yourself to sleep that first night.

Every aspect of life also included you and your boyfriend. You knew before you and Jack had started dating, he was constantly liking other girls bikini pics on instagram. And even though he had stopped doing that, you’d still seen tweets from his fans in the past joking about how he was “always at the scene of the crime” with a screenshot of his like on a picture of the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. And while you tried to ignore it, you noticed of a pattern with all the girls. They looked a lot like the icons from your childhood. Nothing like you.

So now, late at night, when you were supposed to be having quiet and sweet moments with your boyfriend; your boyfriend that you didn’t get to see very often at that! You spent those moments thinking about those stupid likes on those stupid pictures of those stupidly beautiful girls.

And as for you, the comments had really gotten to your head. Even when you weren’t with Jack and you weren’t on your phone or in your childhood room. You still found someone to compare yourself to. It was like some kind of superpower.

and i bought all the clothes that they told me to buy

i chased some dumb ideal my entire life

and none of it matters and none of it ends

you just feel like shit all over again

Was this silly? It feel silly.

This didn’t feel like you but a change was needed.

Jack (and Luke) had been hanging out with the team all day and you had the day off. You had decided to spend the time alone shopping for clothes that you would’ve never worn before this past month and a box of blonde hair dye.

“We’re home!”

Luke’s voice rang through the apartment, snapping you out of your trance that you were in while staring out the box of hair dye taunting you on the bathroom counter.

“Y/n?” Now it was Jacks voice that made its way through the apartment.

“Bathroom!”

You could hear his footsteps come closer to the bathroom door before a knock on the door, hesitating before opening the door before him. He slipped in before locking the door behind him.

“I was gonna jump in the shower if he wanted to join me.” Jack told you, his hands sliding around your waist with his back to the door. Naturally, your hands slipped around to rest behind his neck, forgetting about the hair dye sitting on the counter.

“I think I’m gonna have to pass this time—”

“You’re gonna dye your hair?” Jack cut you off, his eyes focused behind you.

“Oh- Yeah, I just, um, wanted a change I guess.”

Jack didn’t say anything or take his eyes off of the box of hair dye. He didn’t buy it for a second but he just didn’t understand. How could you not see how beautiful you were. Jack had known the comments were bad, he just didn’t realize they were getting to you this badly. He looked back to you, who had a guilty look in your eyes. Jack sighed before moving you over to the counter, placing you next to the box.

“Baby, if you really want to dye your hair blonde, go for for it. But I don’t think you want to.” You couldn’t even look at him. You felt embarrassed that you’d been confronted about how out of hand these insecurities have gotten, even if it wasn’t really your fault. You felt like a child being scolded. “I know we’ve talked about this before but you really have to listen to me this time okay, babe?”

Jacks hand came up to your chin, gently pushing your head up to make eye contact with him.

“You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. I mean that. All those assholes just want to find someone to hate more than themselves and I’m sorry that dating me has made you a target for that. But blonde hair dye isn’t gonna make them stop. I’ll say something— I should’ve said something sooner but I’ll do it now. Just- Just don’t change for them because they won’t ever be happy. Pretty isn’t pretty enough for them, okay?”

You were crying now. Because you knew he was right and you were upset you had let them drive you crazy. You continued to cry as your boyfriends arm came around your frame. You uttered apologies, not quite sure for what, while his hand rubbed your back.

After a while, your tears stopped and Jack pulled away. “I love you. And I told you, if you really want to go blonde, go for it. I mean, you’ll look hot either way—”

“Jack!”

“Okay, okay. Blonde or no blonde.” He asked with a small smile on his face, holding up the box of hair dye.

“No blonde.”

Jacks smile grew as he threw the box into the trashcan. His hands slid down to your thighs, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“So… can we get that shower now?”

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter four: This is why you don’t leave your Aeon unsupervised (In which you get kissed, again)

Warnings: References to violence, mentions of castration (not graphic) heavily not edited (RIP first draft, you will not be remembered)

“Ohoho this is neat!”

“It’s not neat man— more like dead meat.”

“Come on don’t be a downer! Look bro, it’s your very first wanted poster!” Boothill roughly grabbed you closer to him in good spirits as he grinned widely at the paper he’s holding with another hand— specifically, your very first wanted poster.

“I’m happy I have one but the problem is— it looks so…” You cringed, seeing your pose with a chair. Well at least they didn’t get their details wrong. “I don’t know, fuckass??”

Boothill snorted. “Nahhh don’t sweat that darling, it’s your first one after all. You should have seen mine, it’s wayyyy uglier than yours.”

“I didn’t expect to be known as some chair using murderer though.” You mumbled, it wasn’t exactly a complaint considering it was and had been technically your weapon ever since you occasionally roped yourself in Boothill’s shenanigans. “I’m just gonna have to pray the other people in the express won’t look at me weird once they see my face on the news.”

The chances of it happening were slim— you didn’t like media attention, whether it be for the purpose of turning you into a subject fit for a National Geographic™️ documentary or have your entire face on the news. Thankfully you weren’t in the level of a stellaron hunter yet, but damn the IPC sure knew spite.

“I don’t know why they even bothered with putting a bounty on my head, it was just some lackeys I helped you with sending out six feet under— wait, was it because I castrated one of them using the back of my shoe?” You blinked, brows furrowed as you continued to stare at your own poster some more as Boothill cringed and hissed through gritted teeth.

“Probably.” He said— although lacking balls himself, he felt a tinge of sympathy for the poor lad whose jewels you’ve severed using a blade you have very creatively embedded in your shoe. “Some of their folks can get reeaal petty.” He drawled. “Friend of theirs that escaped probably put that bounty on your head because they’re scared they’d be next on the clock chopping board.”

In your end you did say “Say goodbye to deez nuts!” and brutalized that poor poor man so much his friend pissed themselves and peaced out.

“Pffft.” You laughed. “Clock chopping board—“.

“Yeah yeah laugh all you want.” He rolled his eyes. “That aside, you’re a pretty thing. If you go around killing them while accompanying me they’re bound to remember your face.” He tapped you on the cheek lightly.

“Thank you?” You said, unsure.

There’s a ring in the air that you identified to have come from Boothill’s phone.

“Welp, time to go.” He said, snatching a shot glass and downing the last of the whiskey and swallowed the bullet that accompanied it.

“Later darlin’, still got some business to do.”

“Good luck!”

—————————

“It’s nice to finally meet you, time hasn’t been very kind.”

What the fuck?

Green eyes, blond hair and good looks, the man that stood before you was none other than Kirschtaria Wodime— wait no, wrong name and fandom, it’s Otto Apocalypse?? No, you internally shook your head, wrong again.

This bitch was Void Archives, and he’s the source of Welt’s old man yaoi PTSD.

And you were probably going to have a rivalry, because unfortunately for everyone in this train including yourself; he didn’t pretend he was pretentious, he was the pretentious prick.

“Well, hello and nice to meet you I suppose?” You blinked, unsure of how to approach him as you awkwardly extended your hand for a shake. Void Archives took it, surprisingly gentle with how he grasped it before giving it a firm shake.

“Void Archives.” He introduced himself but you already know that, he didn’t though.

“[Name].” You replied.

In your opinion, this man smelled suspicious. Very very suspicious, and a bigger red flag than you. (If he had the face of Otto Apocalypse then it was an automatic sus banner plastered on his profile for you, but the bit— Void Archives, doesn’t know that you know.)

You scowled the moment he was out of the room, clear displeasure displayed into your face as you thought of another way to deal with another shitshow— except the Express was involved. You didn’t know much about what happened, but you do know he caused some not so good shit for everyone.

On the bright side, you would meet Dan Heng.

Dinner was served and pleasantries were exchanged, with you remaining uncharacteristically reserved towards Void Archives. If the other two people in the express noticed this, they don’t speak of it.

———————-

You retreated to your quarters for that night and returned to your true body, surprised to find Yaoshi there with you, sitting idly as if waiting.

“I see that you already have a name.” They smiled sweetly. “And a more formed body too.. yes….this one suits you just fine indeed.” One of their many hands rested on the top of your head, taking a lock of hair in between their fingers as they looked at you with the thousands of their eyes adoringly. “You have grown well, I am glad.”

“Welcome back?” You managed to utter, much like your encounter with the Void Archives, Yaoshi too made you at a loss for words.

“You were waiting for me?” They came closer to you with a pleased expression plastered on their disturbingly ethereal face as you heard the stretching of branches and the sound of limbs being torn off again.

“You did promise you would come back to visit.” You told them. “Were you here for a while?”

“No, but I was watching you.” They shook their head gently. “You spread freedom and sow in seeds of kindness, will you liberate more from suffering?”

“I mean, I don’t like having to see shit like people being constrained. So technically, yes.” You replied to them, and they seemed pleased with that response, holding your waist with another pair of arms, caressing you in a way you would have felt as a maddening and yet detached kind of love had you been a human.

Now that you thought about it, it was no wonder Yaoshi’s followers seemed.. a little crazy.

However their hold on you seemed to be personal. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

“How kind,” They said, voice remaining sweet and expression tranquil as they pulled you closer and closer, til you’re caged in the branches and the thousands of arms— they’re ensnaring you in a hug, or at least you thought it’s a hug.

“You liberate people of their suffering, lessening their burden in the cycle of being.” They sighed like a maiden in love. Briefly, you thought of the man whose balls you severed with the back of your shoe and felt the urge to rebut Yaoshi of what they said, but ultimately chose not to speak as they didn’t seem to tire in adoring you.

You found it a little off putting but you couldn’t judge; they were free to feel anything towards you as much as you were free to think of anything towards them. They were a fellow Aeon, although if you were a mortal, you would have found this interest towards you incredibly terrifying, knowing full well how their love always ends.

While losing yourself to mara and growing branches and leaves in your body wasn’t sexy, you weren’t going to restrict Yaoshi in feeling things, so long as they don’t cause trouble to your little train.

“May you be as free as those whom you chose to be free, Kind Freedom.” The branches receded and so did their arms, with only two hands to cup your face gently. “May we meet again.” After they uttered those words, they kissed you just as they did before when you were just new to the world, then left.

If you were a human, you think you would have just gone cathartic from too many things happening at once, because what the hell was their business in kissing you in the mouth before dipping??

You did remember that Yaoshi said that they felt as if they knew you before, and thinking about it now, were the Aeons acutely aware of you watching when you were playing the game behind the screen?

No, they wouldn’t be. But you’d like to think they could feel your presence, just not identify you.

It was in the simulated universe too, so there was no way unless they actually fully interacted with you outside of it as the Trailblazer. You thought of it some more, recalling past conversations, then you remembered Lan stating your presence felt familiar too.

It still didn’t really explain why Yaoshi would be compelled to kiss you as if you were a lover— but on god, you hoped not. As disturbingly beautiful as your fellow Aeon might be, you’re well aware and lucid enough to acknowledge they’re a big fat red flag.

For a moment, you wondered if they’d ask you to marry them next, worse, they could just tell you you’re married to them and call it a day.

Could Aeons even marry?

There’s a lot for you to think about, but you brushed the thought of a marriage when you remembered the other train passenger— Mr. Blonde Prick. You groaned, at that time not noticing the noise you made was heard by the cosmos.

It was a groan for you, but for the humans who heard it certainly did not sound like it.

You told Welt to shut off the broadcast in the next day the moment you heard a very familiar intro, not wanting to hear your voice documented and broadcasted for everyone to hear again.

———————

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V (HERE),Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII….

And there we go for this chapter! This is just pure brain vomit but enjoy :33